


Cursed

by Aetherrryn



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-02-16 05:18:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 64,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21502510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aetherrryn/pseuds/Aetherrryn
Summary: A tale as old as time...A beast stalks the wood; a beauty will ride to meet him.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 39
Kudos: 164





	1. Prelude

It was quiet. A stifling silence, so thick it was nearly overwhelming. The slightest noise seemed an intrusion, be it the crackling of dry branches beneath the horses’ hooves or the gentle puffs of air that drifted in a mist of fog. The slightest noise seemed too loud.

It was dark. The sun was hidden behind a veil of bleak, sodden clouds, heavy and foreboding. The threat of winter lingered in the growing chill; the Faerghus snows would soon shroud the lands in a coating of pristine white. But here it was dark beneath the thick boughs of cedars and pines and the gnarled vines that twisted and twined into a thorny quilt. What light there was did not seem to penetrate the hazy mist that descended. 

There seemed to be no life skittering through the barren earth; no birds to sing their lovely songs, nor deer tramping through the expanse. The wood seemed lifeless and forgotten, the great towering giants slumbering as they reached ever higher, chasing the sky so distant. 

Somber though these sights may be, no pause was given by the stalwart youth. 

A man, young and filled with brazen courage, gave no mind to these startling images. They seemed no more strange to him than did the warmth of his own halls for often had he wandered through the depths himself, no fear disturbing the peace of his heart. He rode upon a stallion, great and strong and made for such lengthy treks as these. 

This man, gold of hair and blue of eyes, rode at the helm of a company—a fierce leader, and though they spoke, those that followed behind him, of wicked beasts and foul creatures that prowled the woods in search of warm flesh to tear, he was not afeared. Never had he seen such wretched forms, nor laid his eyes upon such a monster as they spoke—and truly, even if he had, in his vigor it would seem as no more than a worthy challenge to overcome. A trial by which to further prove his strength. 

This young man, a prince by title and right of birth, rode onward, a silver lance in hand, his eyes straying not from the path by which they traveled. A task had been given; a task would be seen accomplished. 

Yes, a task—a curious request. Yet what cause had he to reject it, beseeched so fervently by one so trusted? 

And so this young man rode not alone. There was another—a woman fair and beautiful, with flowing locks of a peony’s petals and eyes verdant as the spring grasses. By many names was this woman known; by some a healer, by others an enchantress, and yet others, a witch. And so she had, this woman, imparted a tender request to the young prince and begged an escort to guide her through those frightening woods. Softly spoken and humbly asked, how could he have refused?

Her smile had seemed true to his trusting gaze, her pleading voice had touched his gentle heart. Earnestly did the youth acquiesce, did he gather his finest blooded knights and depart upon this quest, to guide a gentle lady to her destination.

No query had he made—wherefore was this trek to be accomplished? The cause of this quest was not his concern, so he had deemed, and remained silent in his duty. Of great import must it be, surely, for a woman of so high a status to be called from the palace halls and into such a solemn space.

The days had drifted by, each seeming like the prior; no disparity in the place they passed. Long had it been, it seemed, that they had stepped through the threshold of the wood—and yet their destination seemed no nearer. Spirits grew dark and the countenances joyless and morose; each had begun to long for the comfort of home, for the warmth of a hearth and a meal fresh made by the hands of a loved one.

No warmer did grow the days, no happier did grow the men as night fell faster and darker and the first trace of snow trickled through the branches in a sliver of white. They held their tongues.

As sustenance and water ran thin, and no root nor berry nor stream could be found to replace them, hunger began to gnaw and whine. Still they held their tongues.

The young prince, though no less weary, no less hungry, no less thirsty, remained a beacon. He made no complaint; did not grumble, nor spit a hasty word. They held their tongues.

But for all this growing misery that seemed to stretch ever on, there was to be no relief, for that woman—that fair, kind woman, had never meant to conclude this wretched quest. No—her cause had been sinister and cruel, and her smiles as had seemed so gentle, were false.

One mirthless night—swallowed whole by shadow, when all had fallen to a troubled slumber, this woman rose and crept into the darkness. One by one, each unfortunate soul that had so far traveled for her bidding, their last they breathed. They at whom she had smiled and so tenderly spoken, she smiled no more. 

Their blood watered the frozen earth, corpses strewn with gaping mouths—open as though to swallow air that would no longer fill their lungs. Good men had they been, loyal, dutiful. They had held their tongues. They would hold them forevermore. 

Now one remained, one sleeping soul, resting in the dun of night. No thought of such heinous betrayal had through his head wrought havoc. This youth, kind and brave, was trusting. He had not stirred when the lives of those with whom he had laughed were snuffed. No noise had they made. 

Now he remained, alone, weary, hungering, thirsting—a prince so far from his kingdom. He slept undisturbed, giving no heed to the branches and stones bruising his skin, to the cold whispering across his form. 

The shadow creeping to his unmoving figure did not wake him. 

The murmur, low and rhythmic, did not wake him. 

This woman stood above the slumbering prince whom in her had placed such trust, and chanted. Ancient and cruel were the words that fell from her lips; crueler still were their purpose. Her gentle visage warped with wretched ecstasy and louder did her voice grow. 

A scarlet haze broke the darkness, crackling around the youth—now begun to stir. Naught could he feel but confusion, for one blissful moment, before an agony enveloped his form as had never before he encountered. 

The cry of a young man echoed through the night, harsh and broken, and the laughter of a woman. 

Brave lion, jeered she, when her enchantment had met its cessation. She laughed and laughed and laughed. Brave lion, cursed to wander evermore a foul beast. For blood shall you thirst and for flesh shall you hunger. A man and beast both shall you be. Know the craving of madness, and know too the anguish of your deeds. Wander in solitude and know no solace, no comfort. Gnash your teeth and howl and know no mercy. 

Who would look upon such a miserable sight and know sympathy?

This she cried through her laughter as the young man’s flesh tore apart and rethreaded, as his frame grew in size, as mottled, mangled fur and hair sprouted across his body—dark and gold both. The maw of a lion—twisted and half still that of a man’s became a grotesque countenance—strong hands became claws, mangled, where had been feet sprouted horrible paws, long and beastly. What clothing had adorned him tore free and left him bare—but what flesh was there to look upon? Pale skin grew ashen and dark, tough like a beast’s hide. 

Where had been a man stood a cursed beast—not animal, not human, a mockery of both. Strong had he been as a man, stronger still as this foul invention. Monstrous, towering, what remained of this poor creature was naught but the eyes. Wide, afeared, blue eyes remained lodged in a twisted skull—the eyes of a frightened boy that had tasted his first of broken trust. 

A word he tried to speak—this woman’s name, and the voice that rumbled from the monster’s chest was not his own, not as he remembered it. Half a terrible growl, half a human voice, still he tried to speak—to understand. What had he done? What sin had he committed that so vile a punishment was bestowed him?  
Wherefore had she whom he had known so long cursed him to such a miserable existence. 

And the beast learned of anger—of true rage and wrath, and a madness swelled within him. The longing for flesh and blood—to tear through a living being and devour the sweet nectar within. The beast learned of vengeance.

The woman smiled. She smiled at the man-beast and bid him farewell, and she turned away. There was naught he could do but lunge for the deceiving witch, desiring to tear her to pieces and spill her scarlet blood across the wood. Yet she vanished and his claws gripped nothing but cold, stagnant air.

A howl tore from the beast’s throat—agonized, manic, filled with hatred and loathing. The name remained lodged in his skull, the face of the one who had done this to him.

And so they say, a beast stalks the wood. A beast hungry for the flesh of man and thirsty for warm blood. A beast they say—though none have seen it. Those that have, they say, do not live to tell the tale. They hear its howls, they say—they hear the echoed howls through the wood.

A beast stalks the wood.


	2. Tensions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An invitation, a realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about a second prologue?

A quiet sigh broke the silence of a spacious chamber, weighted and resigned. A woman, solitary, sat before a desk, laden with parchments and letters and stationary. There was no sound but for the gentle scratching of her quill against paper, staining the white page with scripted ink. 

Golden light filtered through the accommodating space, setting a fiery glow alight. 

The woman shook her head, a mane of spun silver basked in amber warmth unfurled down her back, straight and rigid. A yawn threatened to split her clamped lips; she raised her hand and lamely covered her mouth, her eyes fluttering closed. Exhaustion settled firmly into her limbs and dragged lower her lids with every weighted blink. 

Heaving a soft breath, the woman carefully stuck the quill in its place and raised her arms over her head in a vigorous stretch. Much of the day had passed, and she had spent it isolated in this great, lonely office, whittling away at the piles of paperwork that demanded her attention. 

Alas, such was the lot of her station. 

The woman rubbed at her eyes gently and sighed once more, longing for the days of leisure and laughter that she had since discarded. No such idleness now, not for the Emperor. Less so now that the North had finally succumbed to Southern pressure and begun to crumble at the seams.

What an ordeal that had been. But now it seemed that the unification of Fodlan was well at hand, and never before had her duties plagued her as they did now. It seemed that there was yet something else for her to oversee, or a new conference to attend with every passing day. 

It was not as though she had been expecting the position to be one of leisure and ease, but truly, one could not simply comprehend the enormity of the toil that accompanied such an undertaking until they had begun to live it. 

The woman’s eyes wandered as she pushed her stiff form from its place, falling upon the map that stretched across the wall opposite her. Many times had she surveyed it, memorized the lines and borders, and now, slowly, those inked dividers were falling out of place, readjusting and shifting as the tides swept in.

Soon there would be no such divisions. The continent called Fodlan would swell into one great nation; the empire would be the sole commanding force throughout. And she, well, she would take upon the mantle of true sovereign. 

An imposing notion, to say the least, and yet also that which she had striven for all these years. What right had she to give complaint? 

Nonetheless, she had dedicated much of her time to her duty; perhaps it was time to indulge in a moment to herself. This was the thought that bounded round her skull as at long last she rose and moved from the prison of unending toil. 

It seemed that a splitting pain arced through her head when one step she took, and worsened with every following motion. A sigh broke past her lips and she cursed inwardly. It was not so surprising, she supposed, that after having consumed no sustenance such an ache would have swelled in her skull. It was most certainly an inconvenience however, and she decided that prior to attempting to do anything different, she would amend the uncomfortable gnawing in her empty stomach.

Indeed it seemed an acceptable course of action, to firstly dine and settle the aching hunger. That had been her intention, at the least, but for the inevitable intrusion that arrived in the form of three firm knocks upon her office door before even she had taken as many steps. 

It truly came as no surprise when she murmured her assent and allowed the familiar persona to enter. Indeed, she was not at all astonished to find a grim-faced, dark-haired man bowing stiffly at the waist as she permitted him further entry. 

However, the small sigh of a rather acute disappointment slipped through her clamped lips and she pushed the thought of an idle moment from her mind. She supposed that by now, it should be considered a surprise when he did not interrupt her daily toil with more pressing concerns. Of late, much of the news delivered her had been of the affairs of the north. 

She assumed it would be so again. Thus, the woman turned away and moved back to the desk overladen with paper. “Hubert.” A rather curt greeting betrayed her irritation. Under the pretense of seeming occupied, she carefully gathered a falling pile of parchments and began to straighten them, hoping that it was nothing so severe so as to demand urgent action. 

“I duly apologize, my lady, for this disruption.” The man bowed his head, perhaps seeing through her guise of composure. “A convoy has arrived, courtesy of the northern regent.” 

A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth and her brows pinched together. “What does she require of us this time?” It seemed that demands, one after another, were pouring from that desolate frosted wasteland. “More soldiers to quench foolish peasant uprisings?” A sardonic bitterness touched at her tone and the woman shook her head. She had met the saccharine, simpering beauty once before, when tearfully, she had declared the royal family lost to death and offered the kingdom called Faerghus to her rule.

It was at her uncle’s behest that the woman was now considered the steward of the frozen north, but Edelgard herself corresponded through letters and couriers. 

But the man gravely shook his head, seeming himself displeased. “No, she extends a gracious invitation.” With barely guised scorn, he bowed once more and offered her a perfumed letter. 

It was with a sigh that she accepted it. “The regent does understand that I do not have the time for leisurely excursions, certainly less so for a journey so distant.” The white-haired woman glanced over the elegant stationary, not quite enamored with the sickeningly sweet aroma that imbued the message. 

Under the watchful eyes of her faithful vassal, the emperor read the letter delivered her, displeasure swelling in her chest. An invitation indeed. 

With fanciful, flowery phrases, the northern regent so humbly begged yet another request. She beseeched her imperial majesty’s glorious arrival at the holy Faerghus court that she may learn of true northern hospitality. Well, only in part. The rest detailed, in rather vague terms the growing unrest of the stout, stubborn peoples and the noble families that yet refused to bow their heads to imperial rule. 

Edelgard frowned as she laid the letter upon a towering stack of other such correspondences. “These troubles do not cease. Faerghus remains a venomous thorn in my side still.” The woman grumbled, disquieted by the news. The nobles that remained loyal to the former ruling house could very well rise against imperial authority. 

Her vassal scoffed, the disdain evident in his gleaming serpentile eyes. “Obstinate fools. They cling to the ghosts of their impotent kings and whisper superstitious nonsense.” Hubert’s eyes narrowed and he lowered his head. “Shall I send your refusal, my lady?”

It was far too hasty to simply reject the engagement because it was an inconvenience. “No.” The woman allowed her head to fall, closing her eyes as the pounding in her skull throbbed painfully. “Not yet. I must think upon the consequences before making such a decision.” If she disregarded the proposition, there was a chance that the people’s discontent would swell. Tensions between herself and the crumbling country had been strained of late, it would be folly to ignore the possibility of a violent insurgence. 

If necessity dictated, then she would respond with force, but until that came to be, she wished to stay the bloodletting and resolve the dissension with a firm, but benevolent hand. 

Of course this was nothing new; the state of affairs had been this way since the untimely passing of the kingdom’s young prince so many years past. It had been as much as a surprise to her as to the rest of the continent. The youth had been strong, courageous, and so far as she had known, well beloved by his countrymen. 

Very little was known, in truth, of his death. There had been but one to claim to know what had happened—and it was the very woman she had appointed as regent successor to the prince. She called herself a survivor by pure chance when asked, but firmly assured all who inquired that the prince and his company had fallen prey to a wicked beast that had torn them apart. Well, until the stirrings of her heart set her to weeping in a mournful fervency.

There were few that believed this tale wholeheartedly, but no evidence existed otherwise to suggest a disparate occurrence. 

It was unfortunate, she could not deny it. She had met the young prince, a man of an age with herself, some years ago, and he had seemed to her a decent personage, though perhaps that was a disservice. From what she could recall of him, he had been courteous, kind—and his eyes had been blue. A vibrant blue as the heart of an all-consuming flame. 

He had to her seemed then like a man that would vie for peace and diplomacy, and surely, if he were still living, relations between the empire and the kingdom would be vastly different. Alas, what purpose was there in dreaming of foolish impossibilities?

It did not matter that the man had been kind and noble, nor that he would have made a fine king, and even, should the necessity had arisen, a finer consort. It did not matter because he was dead. She could not very well depend on the deeds of an apparition to mend the bonds between the embittered nations. 

She could rely on no one save herself and her judgement. 

The gentle call of her name brought her from her rumination; she had not even realized that she had so deeply fallen into the trance of thought. “I am weary, Hubert.” The woman sighed with a shake of the head. “I will think further on this matter on the morrow. As for now, I wish to sup.” 

Her vassal bowed and stepped out of her path, placing himself at her side as she began to take her leave. 

His steps thudded alongside her own as she strode through the halls of her home. Despite having declared that she wished to think no more of it…the thoughts crept through the confines of her skull regardless and once again she began to dwell on the so-called invitation. 

She had not laid eyes upon that frigid country since the very days of her youth—and still she had naught but vague memories of that wintry place. Many years had it been since she had stepped foot upon that barren soil. 

She supposed it could be considered remiss of her to have forgone visiting the country for so long, more so now that she had laid claim to its lands and engulfed it into the empire. 

The regent had written her to plead for her presence—and with no great amount of pleasure, Edelgard could not deny that there was some viability to the request. Why should the people of Faerghus bow to an emperor they had never seen? They had no cause to trust in her reign—someone so distant. They knew only the steward and whatever laws she deigned to impose. It would be an opportunity, would it not? Both to survey the country she had won, to appraise the regent’s methods, to further earn the people’s trust. 

It was not surprising in the least that they were wary of her, having known little of her but the stoic persona that whispered was whispered of in rumors. And the lords of the country had not been given the chance to speak with her themselves—so too was their growing ire warranted.

It seemed that the more she thought, the clearer the solution became. Regardless of how inconvenient the destination, or tiresome the journey, it seemed that at least one public appearance was a requisite to earn the country’s approval. She needed to show them that she was more than an iron-fisted ruler that wished for naught but their misery. 

And still these thoughts coiled round her head as she finally sat down to dine, her loyal vassal ever at her side. 

The chamber was silent as she ate, void of life save her own and his. 

She found that her mind strayed again to the thoughts of the golden-headed man she had once known. Would the prince have greeted her warmly if she had deigned to visit his country? She tried to remember him as she had seen him—yet his features seemed…lost. She could not recall completely his countenance. Well, it had been many years, so that she had lost her recollection was not an astonishing occurrence. It was a shame though.

Still, she recalled with absolute clarity—his eyes. As before, the color of his eyes swelled to her mind. Odd that such a detail had been engraved into her memory. 

Inconsequential. There was no benefit in recalling the eyes of a dead man. 

The woman sighed and sipped at a chalice filled with wine—tinged with a sweet note. “Hubert.” She spoke at last, and at once, the man was at attention. “Prepare my response.” 

“So soon?” His voice drifted through the quiet and she raised her head and turned it to the side, glancing at him. 

With a lame nod, the woman rested her chin on her fist and tapped her fingers against the table. “It seems that I had been unable to cease pondering, regardless of my own desire.” Her eyes trailed to the empty platter before her. The ache in her head seemed to have settled, and most certainly the hollowness in her belly had been thoroughly filled. “Write to the regent and announce my acquiescence.”

“So you mean to go.” The man’s eyes narrowed, just a tad; it seemed that he was displeased.   
Edelgard averted her gaze and nodded. “I would imagine that you might comprehend my rationale.”

Hubert nodded, but still a sigh slipped from his lips. “Yes, my lady. I understand.” She did not take his displeasure to heart, she knew well that he was wary of the regent. He had protested her ascension to steward of the north afore, and she could not blame him. She misliked the woman well enough herself. There seemed something false in her character—her persona was too well crafted.

Alas, there was naught to be done for now. She needed sufficient cause to remove the woman from her position and to silence her uncle’s dissension. As of yet, there had been no such justification. Whatever nefarious deeds Hubert suspected her of, of which he voiced little, there had been no evidence. 

“Tell her to expect my arrival, within a fortnight.” The woman resumed to declare her intentions, though once again catching the man by surprise.

Her loyal vassal raised his brows. “When do you mean to depart?” His voice lowered some, and it seemed that concern had darkened his brow. 

The woman sighed and straightened, pushing away from the table at which she had supped. “If not tomorrow, then on the morning following.” Yes, abrupt, but there was little to be done. If she wished to sort these affairs quickly, then it was best to make for the north soon. “And I would have you remain here.”

Whatever qualms he had until then been restraining broke free of his composure. “Absolutely not. I humbly request that you reconsider.” There was a strain to his voice and it seemed that his jaw had tightened. 

Edelgard eyed her friend, having expected such a protest. However, she had made her mind. “Hubert, I trust none in Enbarr as I do you.” She began, turning to face him. She had no intention of telling her esteemed uncle of her sudden departure. “I would leave the court in your hands, and,” She paused, glancing about the chamber briefly to be assured that none but themselves were present. She cleared her throat. “I would ask you to keep a keen eye on Arundel.”

A hum of discontent rumbled from his throat and he pursed his lips, evidently wishing fervently to dissent. 

“Or would you rather I leave such delicate matters to Duke Aegir?” Her lips curved up faintly at the sudden scowl that marred his face. She knew well how little he thought of the rather vapid man. His resolve was readily crumbling, as she had desired to see. “I suppose if you truly insist upon accompanying me then I will leave Ferdinand as my substitute—,”

“Hardly necessary.” The man grumbled, coughing quietly into his fist. “That self-satisfied buffoon has no place taking your title.” In truth, the man in reference was rather capable when it came to political affairs. The young noble was adept at managing his lands, better than his oaf of a father had been. She knew, however, that Hubert did not think highly of him, and of course using the man’s name would stir his ire enough to bend him to her will.

She raised a slender silvery brow, raising her chin, knowing her victory was at hand. “Then I assume you consent to remaining here in my stead.” 

She watched the man’s eyes fall shut, saw his chest heave as he breathed a sigh of resignation. “If this is what you wish.” Decidedly, it did not sit well at all with him. “However, I would not permit your majesty to travel alone.”

“I would be taking a company.” Of course she would not go alone—that was utter folly. An entourage of well-trained knights was to be her escort. Yet, by the furrowing of his thin brows, she gathered that he did not find that sufficient. A compromise had to be formed, it seemed. The woman closed her eyes and pondered upon who she might take with her that the man would find suitable. There were a few candidates in mind of whom she had faith in. 

But there was one that she could tolerate best. 

“If I were to bring Dorothea as my aide, would you then assent to this plan?” Edelgard sighed and opened her eyes to peer at him, awaiting his answer.

Still there was hesitation. The man was inclined to refuse regardless. But after a long moment of deliberation, a quick jerk of the head assured her that he had given in to her will. “Very well.” 

Songstress though the woman was, she was quick of wit and possessed a certain acuity in the use of the arcane. A suitable replacement for the sorcerer in that regard. Thus it was settled; she was to depart for the former kingdom of Faerghus, make known her countenance amongst its peoples, and heaven willing, restore some semblance of peace throughout the divided nation. 

“I am glad that we have come to an agreement.” The woman did not give herself a moment to bask in the victory against her vassal, but turned away instead to resign to her chambers. It was most certainly fully darkened out of doors. Before she had taken but four steps, the emperor paused and turned her head. “Summon Dorothea and enlighten her regarding this turn of events.”

She remained long enough to hear the man’s murmur of affirmation, striding out of her personal dining chamber. A bath sounded rather pleasant at the moment. 

As she walked, the woman began to list the necessities that she would need to bring along on this lengthy trek. Well, most certainly clothing befitting the cold environment. And of course, the sacred Aymr; regardless of an escort of knights and a capable sorceress, she would not be unarmed herself. She would not be so foolish as to be caught unawares by some moronic brigand. 

No indeed, emperor though she might be, she was well-learned in the art of war herself. Though…of late, she had been growing lax with undergoing practice of said art. The duties of her station did not leave her with much time to devote to, well, anything else really. 

That aside, perhaps she would find a moment in which to devote some time to further training whilst under northern hospitality. Surely not every moment of her day would be so strictly dedicated to serving political purpose. She hoped not, at the very least.

She pondered, as she ambled back to her chambers, how she might confer with the remaining obstinate lords of Faerghus. There were a certain few that had simply refused to accept imperial annexation of their lands. They were those that Hubert liked to call raving fanatics, for many that refused to bow were those that still believed that the prince lived. 

It was remarkable, truly, that some still managed to cling to such unreasonable beliefs. Had five years of his absence not been enough to prove that their beloved ruler was not going to return?

She would see to it that their folly was amended.

Indeed. 

The woman’s countenance grew stern and she raised her head, her lavender eyes steely with resolve. Too long had she delayed this visit, and now the time had come. She would go to that bleak, strife-torn land and bring the baying hounds to heel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a slow start, but set-ups are important, right? I've got a bunch of scenes I want to write, I'm just wondering whether to start the action in the next chapter or after it... Anyway, the next chapter should be, hopefully, longer and more interesting. 
> 
> (I want snow)


	3. Unrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pieces of a puzzle, seemingly no fit among them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
> 
> it's my birthday tomorrow so this is like my present to me, because now I can finally write the next chapter, which is what I've been wanting to write
> 
> what's not a present to me is the formal chem report due next week that I really need to get started on
> 
> Enjoy!

There truly was one word that had remained an apt description of the land that she had seen so long ago. Cold. It was frigid beyond the worst of the empire’s winters and it seemed that even the thick layers she had adorned her figure within were not sufficient in warding off the ever creeping chill. 

The emperor was, plainly told, quite miserable. Her entourage was no less so, armored as they were with mere cloaks to block at least some of the wind’s howling gales. 

She had forgotten what true cold was after having lived so long in a mild climate. Winter in Enbarr may as well have been spring for as frosted as the land was here, barely nearing the descent of autumn. Already the boughs of the pines and cedars were flecked with white, and numerous days had passed in which through a cloud of swirling flakes they had traveled. 

Here on the doorstep of the city Fhirdiad, the winds had grown angrier and the clouds heavier. She was glad to have departed so soon, before the full might of winter could descend. Autumn—from what it seemed was rather cruel as well. 

The woman raised a hand and tightened the furred cloak about her neck, breathing a sigh, stiff and sore and chilled. She was in no humor to speak, nor to be spoken to. She wished only to pass the city gates and attain her welcome into the halls of their palace. And then she wished to soothe her frosted bones in a steaming bath. 

But afore all that, crossing into the city was a requisite, and it was still a ways away, despite looming over them, a bleak colossus, as grey as the world surrounding it. 

Her fingers were growing numb, even through the gloves that enclosed her slim fingers. 

The woman raised her head and peered into the sullen scape that surrounded her and her company. But for the forest some distance away, there was little to speak of. The ground was barren and unyielding, frozen beneath the horses’ hooves, spattered with the barest beginnings of snow. There had been nary a creature to cross their paths upon their journey. Even the townsfolk by whom they had passed had been silent and wary. The country seemed lifeless, mirthless. 

Was it always so? Had it always been so? Or was it merely a consequence of the imperial eagle emblazoned upon their cloaks that such caution and quiet had descended like a fog upon the land. It was certainly not an impossibility. In fact, it was more probable than she had first imagined. They had passed through the lands of Galatea—one of those houses that still claimed allegiance to the line of Blaiddyd, the house of ghosts. She supposed that it could be considered astonishing that open hostility had not been recklessly displayed. 

Regardless, their journey thus far had been uneventful. Dull, perhaps. No brigands nor robbers had mustered the courage to besiege them upon the road, and for all the whisper of unnatural creatures dwelling in these lands, no such beasts had shown themselves.

There was but one curiosity, she supposed, from some nights ago. 

A sound had woken her mid the night. Yes, the sound of a howl—unlike any she had heard afore in her life. Chilling, dare she even admit, frightening to some degree. The howl of an animal, she had ascribed it as—but what animal? A wolf? No—it had not sounded so dolefully melodic. In truth, she had not the slightest as to whom it had belonged—that harrowing noise. 

The following day had been tense and wrought with unrest, a sort of stillness descended over their company. None had dared to speak, nor to speak of the horrible sound that had drawn them all from slumber. 

Yet, since that night, no such noise had been raised again. Whether it was fortuitous, she did not know. She would have liked to believe that it was. The woman was admittedly in no hurry to greet the creature that had produced such a sound. As such, having not laid eyes upon it, it was easy to simply declare that it had been the mournful howl of a solitary wolf, perhaps sequestered from his pack.

Regardless, it mattered not. The time to ruminate upon such inconsequential issues was not the present moment. Rather, she should instead be thinking of how to greet her host, and further, how to gather the northern lords for a conference that she might begin to tear down the walls of hostility.

The woman sighed, her breath puffing in a mist, and once again found herself longing for the comfort of a warm hearth and a steaming cup of tea. Perhaps the luxury of a down pillow and a soft mattress as well. And really, after so long spent in travel, surely she would be afforded the rest of the day to spend in respite. She was frigid, weary, assuredly deserving of some time to herself. 

The steed’s ears flicked, twitching, and at once, the stallion began to snort and nicker. Not only her own. The horses in her company grew fearful, nervous. And why?

The woman straightened in her saddle, combing the bleak scape for signs of what might present a threat, be it predators or otherwise. Yet, she saw nothing. There was nothing save the dim wood some distance away, foreboding. 

She peered at it for a moment, wondering if behind the boughs and branches something lurked. Her fingers tightened around the reins, as though it were the handle of her axe and not a strip of leather. But nothing leapt from between the towering pines. 

However, after a moment of stifling silence, a wail arose. Long, growing louder, louder—as though the sound swelled from the very earth and swept towards them on a gale. The very same sound that had been heard some nights ago. How could one call that the howl of a wolf?

Hearing it once more now, in the dying daylight, only a fool could believe that such a warped sound could arise from a mere animal. For no animal’s cry had ever struck such fear into her heart. 

Even after the howl had ceased, the echo remained, and the horses were still afeared. 

She wished to enter the city. Quickly. She did not want to remain outside the walls once night made its full descent. Whatever was in that wood—had it followed them? Perhaps it was only waiting for the opportunity. If that was the case, well then, she must only see that no such opportunity was created. 

The emperor was not a woman to be so easily cowed, thus it was to be heeded when a noise as the one as had been heard had set her to such unease. A feeling as this was not one to be so lightly disregarded.

The agonized cry remained lodged in the confines of her skull even as through the city gates they rode, regardless of her to desire to forget it. But some semblance of peace returned to her when at last the gates were closed behind them and no manner of beast could through them burst. 

Still, despite everything, there still lingered a heaviness. The city was silent as she rode through the barren streets. It seemed that this place too was as lifeless as the rest of the cold country. She had caught but mere glimpses of pale faces poking from behind frosted windows, wide-eyed and fearful. But no stalls nor vendors had filled the streets as in Enbarr, no children’s laughs nor sounds of haggling. There was a stillness like that found in a grave, and it too served only to unsettle her. 

Surely it could not be simply for the cause of her arrival. No, even for the rampant disapproval of her, such a tangible air of fear was almost excessive. Thus she determined that there was yet another cause for this doleful atmosphere. And she wished to know what it was. 

The seconds seemed long-lasting as the imperial company rode to the palace gates, spanning days rather than simple moments. A frigid wind howled, and within it carried the echo of a lingering wail—or so it seemed. Perhaps her head had been filled with, as Hubert aptly described, superstitious nonsense. She was thoroughly pragmatic; the wind was the wind, and it was nothing more. It was surely the effect of such melancholy environment that there seemed shadows flickering in every corner. 

The sun was a mere sliver, dim and dull, as at last it sank below the horizon, hidden behind the thick and ever pervasive clouds, but there were the palace gates before her. The northern palace hardly looked as inviting as did her own home. There was little to be said for the hospitality mentioned that that letter. Certainly, the description ‘welcoming’ was an ill-suited one. 

A brief flicker of recollection—the banners that had fluttered from the peaks of the palace. They had been blue once, emblazoned with a knight upon a griffin. Now the flags flapping wanly over the stone stronghold were her own—the scarlet seeming a blemish, too garish for this dim place. 

There seemed…memories, faint, somewhere in her mind—they whispered through her eyes as she peered this way, that. Vague memories, sweet and bitter both, of a warm youth despite the cold. Alas, no such warmth remained to be found.

The woman closed her eyes and bid the rising memories depart, swiftly leaving her saddle and stepping foot upon the frozen ground. Within moments, the doors of the palace were thrust open and a figure sauntered into the cold, hardly seeming the slightest perturbed.

Two rows of armored knights filed out and formed ranks at either side, unmoving as stone. The woman, fair and untouched by the cruelty of age, raised her arms and smiled—brightly. It was a grin that she was well enough familiar with, faux and simpering. 

“Our great emperor!” The woman called, striding forward without hesitation. “I bid you the warmest welcome to my humble home.” Humble indeed. The woman’s verdant eyes betrayed her arrogance, the same arrogance that she had seen in the eyes of those that had grown too content with the power bestowed them. They were the eyes of a lord whose hunger for further domination would not so soon be satiated. She did not like to see such a gaze.

Edelgard raised her head and regarded her host, composed and unwilling to show her discomfort in the growing cold as night fell further. “Regent.” She greeted the women, her tone lacking the false amiability that had been graced her. With an appraising eye, she turned her gaze to the still soldiers lining the path to the palace. “The courtesy of the north has been lacking of late.” 

There seemed a flicker of annoyance in that elsewise saccharine countenance. The woman bowed her head. “An irreparable grievance against you, your majesty. I shall see that your opinion of this country be restored. Come, warm your hands in the hearth of my home, fill your belly with food and find rest in the comfort of a fine bed.” 

“And my men?” Edelgard raised her brow, noting that her aide had come to stand at her side. The songstress had been silent, and remained so still, but her eyes wandered. 

The woman bowed and straightened, mustering another such smile. “Quarters will be offered them. Your fine steeds will find shelter in our stables. Now, come, your journey has been long and you must be weary.”

There was nothing to deny. Satisfied, the emperor spared her friend a glance, noting the dry smile on her lips, and went forth, sweeping past the regent without a word more. 

But the woman scurried after her, eager to please, though paying no heed to the hazel-haired songstress that walked at her other side. “Will you dine, your majesty?” 

“I will. After a bath.” Her voice was terse; she was lacking of patience for this woman. 

“Yes—certainly. Allow me to show you the way to your quarters.” The peony-haired regent smiled once more and quickened her pace, extending her hand to beckon them onward. Her lengthy gown trailed after her. The woman must hardly step foot outdoors if she had the luxury to dress so lightly. 

Edelgard followed without complaint, seeing no cause to refuse the offer. So she turned her attention the hall as she walked, her eyes wandering the stone walls, the flickering braziers. Even inside, the palace could not be called inviting. It seemed desolate and lonely—merely a few passing servants had caught her eye, their heads bowed. 

“Do wolves inhabit the woods?” She heard her own voice, like a stone dropped into a bottomless well, clanging against the sides—too loud. Yet, her tone was light, an innocuous query—naught at all to do with the horrific sound that twice now had hounded her.

Still, upon the inquiry, it seemed that their guide had stiffened—just the slightest. An odd expression settled upon her countenance and the woman nodded, her smile strained. “Wolves? Yes. Though I cannot help but wonder why you ask this.” 

Odd indeed that such a strange note had struck her tone. Edelgard eyed the regent, then glance again at her friend. “A simple curiosity. Their howling woke me mid the night.” 

“I see.” There seemed a darkening in her verdant eyes. “I assure you, your majesty, those creatures will not find their way into the city.” The shadow passed and the charming smile reappeared upon her painted lips. The woman stopped beside a great pair of doors and extended her arm. “A chamber befitting your magnificence. I shall send maidens to attend you and draw your bath.”

“And for my aide, of course.” Edelgard gestured towards the yet silent woman, who in turn bowed her head. 

“Yes—certainly.” Though with some measure of disdain, it seemed. The woman eyed the songstress and beckoned her to follow. “I shall show you to your quarters as well, my lady.” Indeed, she was less eager to serve the young woman. Dorothea sent her a small smile of amusement as she departed, and the emperor found herself in solitude. 

She could not but sigh as she turned and let herself inside, taken aback for a moment by the grandeur that awaited her. Simply by her preference, her own quarters in Enbarr were not so lushly decorated. A great bed—perhaps twice the size of her own, with towering posts at every corner, vivid blue cloth draped across. A thick fur was sprawled across the dark sheets, and she could not deny that it looked rather warm. 

But for all the ornate furnishing that amply decorated the room, there was one aspect that drew her eyes at once. A large portrait.

It adorned near half the wall, framed with vibrant blue swaths of cloth—like curtains. Yet it was the depiction that stole away her breath and left her wanting for air, unable to draw it. The portrait was of three—a man, a woman, and their child. Golden-headed, all three of them, and eyes like azure fire. A soft smile adorned the woman’s face—a beauty, truly, elegant even in her lifeless memorial. The man looked no less kind, though possessing an air of a nobility, his hand resting on the shoulder of the young boy at his side. And it was the boy that gave her pause.

She had seen this boy before. His golden hair fell to his shoulders, parted slightly at the side. Wide blue eyes, even through the image captured in mere pigments, were trusting and gentle. And it was into those eyes that she peered, unmoving as though lifeless herself, her lips pressed together. A strange feeling built in her chest, one that was intensely discomfiting. 

The woman swiftly turned her head away, resting her hand against her heart. When had it begun to beat so rapidly? 

The woman swallowed and cleared her throat, forcing all thoughts of the portrait aside. 

Painted pictures could do no harm. Lifeless eyes could not see. An illustration could not bestow judgement. Indeed not. So why then did it feel otherwise?

She dragged her hands up her arms, frowning at the chill that had seemed to descend upon the chamber. Perhaps she would ask that the hearth be lit for the night. And that the curtains be pulled over the painting. 

The woman wandered to the bed, sifting her fingers through the fur distractedly. How long had this chamber remained untouched, empty? Undoubtedly this was where the former king had resided. If not at once apparent by the grandiosity, then surely by the painting. It was an odd thought—that she was to be inhabiting a room that housed none but ghosts. If even those. She certainly hoped no apparitions would wake her mid the night with their vengeful wails. 

Edelgard sighed and unclipped her cloak, shrugging the thick fabric off. Slowly, she moved towards the window, resting the cloth atop a chair as she passed it by. There was naught but a silent city below her—the desolate land, and the wood. 

Her eyes lingered upon it, tracing the trees that stuck like spears from the barren earth. They were shadowy peaks in the growing darkness. 

Foolish it was to dwell upon it. 

Her attention was torn away when the door opened and a number of girls filed in, each slipping into a practiced curtsey. The woman turned and rested her hands atop her belly, raising her chin. They looked rather thin, malnourished. Curious; their mistress certainly did not. 

“The lady sent us to serve you.” The tallest of them spoke, a girl with dark locks and a long chin. Perhaps she was the oldest of them. “Your majesty.” She added, though with a slight edge to her voice. 

“Thank you.” Edelgard cleared her throat and appraised the other two—shorter, younger. “A bath, if you would.” She kept her tone light, undesiring of frightening them. 

Without delay, the girls hurried to do as she had bid, and she watched them go. A yawn tugged at her lips, but she pressed them together and stifled it as best she could. Weariness had begun to drag down her eyelids in earnest. Perhaps she might even forgo a meal and depart straight to bed once she had finished her bath. 

She wondered briefly how Hubert was getting on in Enbarr. Surely he was handling everything stupendously, as per usual. It was better, she thought, to have left him there than to have brought him with her. He misliked the regent, and more decidedly mistrusted her. As such, it would have been a pain to have him jeering at the woman. As little as she liked the regent herself, it was preferable to have a rationale, if not amicable discourse. 

Mayhap on the morrow she would declare that she wished to gather the northern lords in Fhirdiad. And should she find a spare moment, she wished to further wander the halls. She did not know what she expected to find, but she could not help the inquisitiveness that had been sparked in her heart. 

“Ladyship, your bath is ready.” 

The girl spoke again, flushed, panting some from having carried the buckets of water to and fro. Still she did not cow and held her gaze. Remarkable, if not commendable. Edelgard offered the girl a faint smile. “Thank you.” Once more she offered her gratitude, and without hesitation, strode towards the waiting girls. 

They allowed her to pass into a bathing chamber where a large tub, full of steaming water waited. Quietly, the girls began to strip her of her heavy garments, as though accustomed to such manner of tasks. She made no complaint and permitted them to do so, eyeing the tub eagerly. 

“Would her ladyship like to dine?” The same girl again, speaking with a boldness the other two did not quite possess. 

“Not this night.” Edelgard sighed faintly as the last layer was removed. “I would rather sleep.” She raised a hand and tugged the bindings from her hair, shivering slightly as the locks unfurled down her back. “But the painting,” She paused before stepping forward. “I wish the curtains drawn over it.”

The girl made no sound of assent, but she assumed that it would be done. 

They slipped away silently as she lowered herself into the tub, a breath of contentedness slipping past her lips. Warmth enfolded her chilled skin as she sunk further into the tub. Bliss—truly, after so long a journey. To relax undisturbed, and for once, a moment of time in which no urgent thought ran rampant through her mind.

The woman leaned her head against the rim of the tub, her eyes falling shut. Indeed, a rare moment of idleness. 

And it seemed that no sooner had she closed her eyes, someone was shaking her awake. 

“Ladyship.” A quiet voice murmured, and when her tired eyes fluttered open, the hand withdrew. “The water is chilled now.” 

And so it was. She had not realized that she had fallen asleep. It was no longer warmth that enveloped her—only the lingering memory of heat. In a daze, she pushed herself up, swaying slightly. Another yawn pushed through her lips, and this time she did not stifle it. 

The girl aided her from the tub and laid something silken over her shoulders. “Your things are brought in, ladyship.” 

She mumbled a quiet thanks and lumbered in a weary stupor to the waiting bed—ready for her. As she climbed in, the fabric falling from her form, her eyes trailed to the wall upon which the painting had hung. The curtains had been pulled over it. 

“Shall I dim the braziers?” The same voice inquired, humble and docile. 

The woman hummed, settling herself in the comfort of the bed—almost too spacious for her small frame. Her eyes had fallen closed before even the light of the braziers was extinguished. But soon the world grew dark behind her lids, and in a moment, the soft sound of a door clicking shut gave way to perfect silence. 

Silence. 

No.

Something. Weighted, heaving breaths. Panting. 

It felt as though something were dripping upon her face. Drop by drop. Warm. And yet she saw nothing. There was nothing. 

It was silent. Utterly silent. Deafeningly so. 

Silent but for the sound. The wail—miserable and wretched—the howl. A wolf. A mere wolf. A mere wolf—but no wolf could made such a noise as this.

And it grew louder, louder, louder—and it seemed warped. Warped. A man’s voice—a man’s scream—it was loud—so loud—it was beside her ear—closer and closer and closer—

The woman gasped and bolted upright, heaving breath after breath, as though no amount of air would suffice to fill her laboring lungs. Sweat slicked her form, cold and clammy. 

There was no sound but that of her own gasped breaths. 

Her heart pounded and pounded against her ribs, like a prisoner pounding his fist against a cell door. A shudder wracked her spine and twisted through her body. She could not tell whether it was overly warm or chilled. And neither could she see through the thick haze of darkness that had swallowed the chamber. 

Had it truly been naught but a dream? She had seen no vision nor frightful image, heard only that sound. Had she truly been so disturbed by a mere sound that it would visit her again her in slumber? And why within that harrowing wail had she heard the voice of a man?

Her mind must surely be addled by the want of sleep, the weariness that besieged her. 

The woman heaved a wavering sigh and slowly allowed the stiffness to seep from her tense form. Regardless, there was naught in this chamber but herself. She was not a child to grow afeared by a simple nightmare, if even it could be described as such. Without a moment more of deliberation, the woman lowered herself again and curled herself inward.

And for the rest of the night she found a fitful slumber. 

One that seemed to last for no more than a few moments. 

She woke to the sound of movement, to daylight filtering through a frosted window. Her head seemed heavy and her mind dazed—as though a thick fog had fallen over her thoughts. She had not rested well that night despite the comfort of her bed. And so exhaustion weighed her lids and made stiff branches of her limbs as she arose in a stupor and peered through a bleary gaze at blurred figures as they flitted back and forth.

“Good morning, your majesty.” A quiet voice banished the silence. Tiredly, she raised a hand and rubbed at her eyes, a sigh falling from her lips. When again she opened them, clarity had been restored her and she saw that it was the young woman from the night prior. “Did you rest well, ladyship?”

“No.” Her own voice seemed a taut rasp, filled with the tension that arises from endless fatigue. Still, such shortness was unwarranted. The girl had done nothing to earn such ire. The woman pushed aside the blankets—far too warm beneath the layered cloth, sparing a glance at the now lit hearth. “Perhaps a product of unfamiliarity.” She reasoned, to herself or to her maiden, she knew not. 

The girl helped her into the robe that had slipped from her the night prior. “This is most unfortunate to hear. Perhaps this night you would take a cup of chamomile, ladyship.”

“I may.” Edelgard sighed, running her fingers through her tangled hair. A platter had been laid for her—food undoubtedly, despite the lack of appeal. Indeed the strange meal did not look appetizing, but she would not complain. It was the north, after all. She made her way to the little table, situated before the window at which she had stood the day afore. “Has my companion wakened?”

“I believe so, your majesty.” Distant, yet polite. The girl stood at attention, her head bowed and eyes lowered. There was yet a rigidity to her posture that betrayed her docile demeanor. 

The woman narrowed her eyes, appraising the maiden that had been assigned her, raising a cup of dark fluid to her lips. It was hot and bitter—otherwise tasteless. A poor imitation of coffee, but it was better than none. Hubert would certainly revile it. Still, as she drank, she assessed the young woman, finding herself growing curious. 

The emperor carefully laid down her cup and curled her fingers together, resting her chin atop them. “What is your name, girl?” She supposed it was only fair that she should know, if the maiden was to be serving her for the entirety of her stay. 

The inquiry seemed to startle her, or at the very least, catch her by surprise. The maiden raised her eyes—briefly, then averted her gaze again and cleared her throat. “Lydia, ladyship.” 

Lydia, a fine name. “Tell me, Lydia, are you native born to Faerghus?” A simple, innocuous query, and one she could guess the answer to. A murmured affirmation confirmed her assumption. Choosing to fend off the burden of weariness, the woman distracted herself by asking more of her maiden. “Have you long served in the palace?”

“Yes, ladyship.” Another quiet response, with a touch of reluctance. 

And suddenly, she found herself once more drawn to a certain…subject. Well, perhaps it could not be considered so astonishing when taking into account her present environment. “Did you serve here whilst the prince still lived?”

There was a slight pause, a sharp gasp. When next she spoke, a tremble accompanied the answer. “Yes, ladyship.”

Why the sudden fright, she wondered. Edelgard peered inquisitively at the young woman, her brows furrowing some. A curious development, the sudden nervousness on display. “Would you tell me of him?”

The young woman cleared her throat and forced herself to raise her chin, her hands clamped tightly together. “The regent does not like us to speak of him.”

A further curiosity. “The regent is not here.” Her voice was quiet, smooth, but wrought with a firmness that demanded acquiescence. She pinned the maiden with her gaze, knowing well that the girl could not refuse her. “What can you tell me of the former prince Blaiddyd, Lydia.” There was less an inquiry in her voice than a command. When a flicker of frightened hesitation danced through the girl’s eyes, a sliver of remorse touched at her heart. It was not right, she knew, to pester the girl of such a thing. 

Besides, it was unlikely that a mere serving girl would know much regarding the mysterious incidents surrounding the former prince’s passing. 

The dark-haired girl lowered her head and took a breath, her fingers stiffly curled together as though in an effort to keep them still. “I can tell you little, your majesty. I saw his lordship in passing, but he was…very kind. He smiled at me and the others and—,” It seemed that a small coating of pink dusted her pale cheeks. “He aided me when I dropped my broom.”

Indeed, little that she did not already know. Her lips curled down with a vague disappointment. What had she been expecting to hear? The woman stifled a sigh and retrieved her cup to take another draught of the cooling black fluid. “And his death. What do you know of it?”

Another tremor of discomfort. The girl seemed to eye the door as though she were expecting a listener to be pressed against it, waiting in delight for a chance to squeal her misdemeanor to the steward. “M-milady, I know nothing of it.” The blush had gone and was replaced instead with an ashen pallor. Fear. 

Entirely unconvincing. Edelgard hummed and turned her gaze away, tapping a nail against the wood of the table. Her eyes fell upon the hearth, the flickering flames that danced within. Why should the servant be afeared to speak of the past? The regent did not like them speaking of those events—certainly…curious in itself. 

As she lifted the cup again to her lips, her thoughts grew focused upon this subject. While she had not come here with the intention of snooping into the enigmatic occurrence of the prince’s untimely demise…she could not help but maintain an inquisitiveness towards the cryptic nature of those affiliated. 

There could certainly be no harm in doing some investigation of her own, perhaps even to discover the truth of it once and for all. Despite not having known the man so intimately herself, it was undeniable that he was owed a kinder memory than the one of simply having vanished. Unveiling the truth might be served in his honor—in the honor of the few recollections she had of him. 

And it would serve as a fine pastime. Certainly it would make a finer pastime than simply idling about. 

The woman’s eyes narrowed some as she gazed distractedly at the embers, her cheek resting atop a fist. Perhaps at the end of it all…she might find Hubert’s suspicions to have been founded. The lady regent was far too enigmatic a persona herself to avoid scrutiny any longer. A fine opportunity this excursion was coming out to be. 

“Lydia, would you prepare me my attire while I finish my meal?” Regardless of how bland it was, it was sustenance. She heard a quiet murmur of assent and the young woman flitted out of the corner of her vision, and the sound of gentle shuffling met her ears. 

And another. 

The woman stiffened, raising her head. Perhaps…she had imagined it. The same sound that had woken her mid the night—the baleful howl. For a moment, it had seemed as though the sound had carried through the chamber. But only a moment—and then again there was no noise but for the crackling fire and the maiden’s soft movements. 

Unwittingly, her eyes traveled to the wall opposite, resting upon the blue curtains behind which three pairs of unblinking eyes peered at her. 

The woman lowered her head and gingerly pressed her palm into her eyes. Exhaustion. It was exhaustion addling her mind and carving in illusions. A cup of chamomile before bed and the issue would find itself resolved, she determined with a brisk nod, lifting her head once again. 

Without a word, she swallowed the tasteless meal and downed the rest of the bitter fluid and pushed herself from her seat. The maiden had laid out her garments and stood beside them, waiting to attend her. The emperor, still lost in troubled rumination, allowed the girl to dress her.

“I wish to traverse the palace for a time.” She announced suddenly, startling the maiden it seemed, if by the sharp tug on the laces of her gown. “Should anyone inquire as to my whereabouts, tell them this.”

“As you wish.” Came the murmured response, and upon finished her task, the maiden stepped away and bowed in subservience. “Does your majesty desire a guide?”

“No.” Edelgard carefully tugged on her boots, heeled to give her some semblance of a height she did not naturally possess, and concluded her dressing with a thick cloak, anticipating the halls outside of her chamber to be chilled. “Though I thank you for the offer.” She managed a tight smile, realizing after that it assuredly had as much a calming effect as did one of Hubert’s grins. 

Thus she let the strained smile slip from her countenance and turned to march from her borrowed quarters. In truth, she remembered little of the palace from her abbreviated visit so many years past. The halls held no familiarity and offered little comfort. After all, it had not been the bleak stone corridors that had held her enamored when she had been a girl but rather a warm persona and a warmer hand that had pulled her through their vast, gaping maws, laughing the fright away.

There was no such hand to enfold her own now, nor smiling visage to bring peace to her heart. She stood in solitude, dwelling upon the fading memories. 

The woman heaved a sigh and began to walk, the laughter of children seeming to echo through the halls. Ghosts of a forgotten past; specters of her own recollections. 

She gained no insight as she ambled through the great corridors, nor even caught a wisp of a life other than her own. The place felt empty; a barren, desolate shell. At the least she would have expected to find palace staff bustling about and tending to the weathered halls, but even they had not broken the dull silence that stagnated the air. 

Her steps seemed loud, each click of her boots against stone lingering. It was disconcerting despite there being no definitive need for furtiveness. She was not a thief skulking in the shadows that she should mask her presence. It felt so regardless.

It seemed an eternity that she wandered through the halls unattended, searching—searching for something she could not name. There was no discernible cause for this sudden ill-advised adventure, it was unlikely that she should find anything incriminating. 

Such thoughts as these began to filter through her mind—aimless meandering would aid in nothing, and yet—she paused. She could not claim to fathom why, but her eyes had been drawn to the side—to a door. 

Heavy, a dark oak—ornately carved, as were the pair that stood sentry to her own quarters. Slowly, she stepped towards them, her breath seeming to stutter. Her hand extended, her fingers curled around the thick knob, weighted in her palm—and surely it would be locked. 

Yet it turned, and with a groan as though from age, it began to heave inward. 

Dust drifted into her nose, stifling and heavy, drawing a cough from her throat. The woman raised a hand to her mouth and gingerly stepped inside. 

It was a spacious chamber she noted at once. And also did she note that a layer of dust had settled upon every surface. Long had this room remained untouched. Her eyes flit from one detail to another, drinking in all that they could—from the scholarly books that were stacked upon a table in the corner, the twin lances leaning against an old wardrobe, one with a cracked shaft, the pair of trousers and loose shirt that were laid over the bed—as though their owner had meant to change into them. 

Her lips quivered, just faintly, as further she crept—almost afeared to disturb the tranquility that time had settled over this place. It was a chamber preserved. 

Carefully she traversed through the room, poring over the books that had been left behind. Articles on diplomacy, strategies of warfare, histories of the nations of Fodlan—even a collection of poems. A map too had remained unfurled, gnawed by moths perhaps, the ink fading. A well of ink—thoroughly dried, and a quill, left atop a half-scripted letter. Her eyes traced the coiling words, penned with a steady hand. 

She took her lip between her teeth, tempted to take this letter with her, to pore over each word further. And why? Because it was a detailing of the supposed request that the regent had made five years prior, questioning the integrity and cause for it, though ultimately dismissing the concerns. Furthermore mentioning the regent’s strange demeanor of late. The supposed recipient was to be a certain lord—a lord Fraldarius. 

Though…this letter had never been sent. 

It was all too apparent to whom this chamber had belonged. She had known it before she had stepped foot past the threshold. But now, in her hands—this piece of parchment dispelled whatever lingering doubts there had been. There was a name signed at the bottom, the name of the one who had in this chamber resided. 

Her gaze remained upon it, following the curving lines of the word as it formed upon her tongue. And in a breath, the word dropped like a stone into a bottomless lake from her lips. 

“Dimitri.”

It felt as though she had uttered an unspeakable word, like venom it was that had coiled on her tongue. 

Her breath wavered as it whispered past her teeth, and carefully, the woman folded the parchment, feeling as though she were a child doing something illicit—a foreboding sense of dread welling in her gut.

She did not know what good taking this letter would do, but she wished to have it. 

Though it was naught but a slip of aged paper, it felt as though a much greater burden weighed down her pocket. 

The woman stepped away from the desk, clearing her throat, feeling much as though there were spectators surveying her every motion. Nonsense, of course. She was entirely in solitude, sequestered in this abandoned chamber. This was the thought that comforted her as she stepped lightly across the room and to the other object that had caught her attention and earned her curiosity. 

Like something she might have found in her own private quarters—an easel. A canvas there was upon the wooden frame, but a cloth had been thrown over it, obscuring the depiction. She gave herself no moment to ponder whether such actions were intrusive, but instead merely pulled the ragged fabric away.

For a moment, a cloud of dust forced her to turn her head away, to allow it to settle once again. 

And then she turned her gaze towards the canvas. Her eyes were drawn at once to those painted in the image—the same startlingly azure orbs that had peered at her from the portrait in the royal chamber. The same eyes, a difference countenance—older. 

One man, young, stood in this portrait—progress seeming to have been ceased mid completion. He stood straight and tall, regal—his visage a picture of noble resolve. Golden hair no longer tumbled about frail shoulders but had been trimmed—a few locks dangling about his eyes. The boy from the portrait had grown into this man. 

This was the face that she had failed to recall. 

She blinked, stepping away, struck by the sudden familiarity. She had seen this countenance before—of course she had. And how could she have forgotten it? Those eyes, vibrantly blue—engraved into her mind, once more they were gazing into her own, unmoving. 

A strange discomfort churned through her and quickly she restored the cloth to its place, covering the unfinished portrait of a dead young man. 

Was it remorse that had trickled into her heart? Was it for the strange, unfamiliar guilt that she had so briefly been able to hold his gaze? And why? She had no cause to feel such things. She had naught to do with his demise. They had been affiliated but briefly. Regardless of the youthful stirring of her heart then at the sight of a gallant, handsome young man—she had little feeling for him. 

Most assuredly.

She had loitered enough—far too long. Perhaps his ghost would take offense at her prolonged intrusion. 

Without delay, the woman turned and took her leave, shutting the heavy oaken door behind her. What was it that had prompted her to skulk about the deserted chambers? An intense and morbid inquisitiveness, or some hope that she might find an answer to a question she did not know she had. 

What indeed. But it mattered not. She had no more reason to creep back inside where two pairs of blue eyes had lingered upon her form, unseeing. 

The woman strode back the way she had come, sparing no more time for the halls that enclosed her in stone. They all looked identical, there was nothing more to see. Instead, her thoughts roamed, pondered the sights she had seen, the letter weighing down her pocket. 

Right, it was not in her nature to grow lax. There was no time for idleness and she had not come for leisure. But it seemed her priority had begun to shift. She knew of course that it was of the utmost urgency that she settle the tension in the north—and yet she found herself ardently desiring to solve the mystery surrounding the prince’s death. 

The simple answer given by the regent was not sufficient any longer. She had not cared enough before to think upon it, but by all means, there seemed something nefarious at play. 

Her fingers toyed gently with the parchment as she thought, recalling the words the dead prince had penned. 

_She has been acting strange of late, dare I say, acting furtively. There seems something sly about her demeanor. Of course it is merely conjecture, and I very well may be concocting strife where none exists. This request of hers comes at an inopportune moment, but she claims it is of a most vital significance. Who am I to deny her? She has been a friend to me and my house for years. I cannot help but wonder regardless what business it is that she must see to that requires passage through the wood._

It seemed that the prince himself had harbored some misgivings—some inklings of doubt regarding the events that had played out—but had worded them to no one and given voice to them instead upon this page in silent ink. And it seeded that this lord Fraldarius to whom he had addressed it was one that he trusted well enough to confide these doubts to. 

If she remembered well enough, this was one of the houses that had remained resistant to imperial pressures—one of those so-called fanatics that Hubert found so disdainful. Something akin to an idea began to form within her mind. Supposing that under the guise of a diplomatic encounter, she invited the nobleman to the capitol. If the prince wrote a correspondence as this one, then the possibility of such other letters having been sent was rather likely. 

And if this was so, then the lord Fraldarius may know of other instances in which the late prince had privately given word to complaint—and within this there might be some clue, or hint, or otherwise as to whether there had been those he had been on poor terms with. Someone that may have wished to do him ill.

Perhaps it was the very same woman mentioned in this correspondence. 

Good heavens—why had this matter become so significant? Was it truly mere curiosity that spurred her to concoct such schemes? What would it matter in the end—the prince would remain dead, and knowing the truth of his demise would not give her much comfort.

Oh—but perhaps it would serve to bring his people solace. 

She gasped at her own revelation, pausing mid stride as the notion entered her mind. Discovering what had happened to his highness—whether or not it was truly an unfortunate coincidence or some manner of foul play—might elevate her status with his countrymen. If she revealed the true villain, the perpetrator of the crime that had divested them of their beloved liege, perhaps they would think better of her.

And of course, the one with whom the most suspicion rested was the regent herself. If it so happened that the woman was involved…well, it was no great grievance to her to strip the woman of her position. In fact, finding that the woman was involved would only bequeath the opportunity to replace her with someone of her own choosing. 

The woman’s lips were tugged upwards as the final piece clicked into place. Quietly, she cleared her throat and glanced about herself, realizing then that she had stopped in a peculiar location. Hurriedly, she spurred herself forth and determined that she needed to find her companion urgently. There was no doubt that the songstress possessed a stronger acuity for charming others into parting with information than herself. 

Undoubtedly Dorothea would find greater fortune in meeting with the palace denizens than she would, and of course, it would be less noticeable and concurrently, less peculiar than were she to suddenly be found interrogating the stable boys and the cooks about their former liege. 

Thus she found herself in her companion’s chamber, having found a maiden to lead her there, and briskly recounting everything she had to that moment deliberated upon. 

Her friend’s countenance remained composed throughout her speech, her hazel eyes merry and thoughtful, her lips as ever curved into a whimsical smile. The woman remained seated in place, waiting until she had spoken her last—and finally, inquired as to whether or not aid would be given in this endeavor.

A moment of silence spanned through the rather small chamber—certainly of less grandeur than her own. It seemed that the songstress was pondering the request, tapping her finger methodically against her cheek. At last she hummed and turned in her seat, groping for a comb resting atop the vanity surface. “Interesting.”

“What is?” Edelgard sighed, resisting the urge to begin to pace. 

Dorothea merely gave her a knowing smile and shrugged. “All of it. I was expecting…something dull. You know, politics and the like—boring councils and talks of diplomacy. Whatever it is you do.” The woman frowned briefly, gently running the teeth of the comb through her tresses. “But here you are intriguing me with a possible murder and all sorts of wicked devilry.”

“Will you or will you not agree to speak to the palace staff?” Her patience was rather thin this morn, not so astonishing after so restless a sleep. 

“This is something much better suited for Hubie, wouldn’t you say?” The woman fluttered her lashes and smiled disarmingly. 

Her own brows pinched together and she could not restrain the growing frown. “And you. Do not think that I am not unaware of your wit and wiles, Dorothea.” A sigh tumbled from between her clamped teeth and the weary emperor sighed, releasing the stiffness from her shoulders. “Think on it, at the very least. You are of course under no obligation to—,”

“Oh, I know. Come now, Edie—did you really think I would refuse?” The songstress unfurled her crossed legs and leaned her chin upon a fist, smiling slyly. “Of course I’ll help you. Besides, the way you make this seem, I can’t help but be curious myself you know.” 

Why had she harbored doubts of this woman? The emperor raised her eyes heavenward and bit back a smile, only just a tad exasperated with her companion’s antics. “Very well. Then I shall leave you to your…work. I suppose I have tarried long enough. The regent must surely be expecting to see me.” 

Her friend lilted a farewell as she began to turn and make her departure—but before her fingers curled around the handle of the door, the woman paused and glanced back. “Did you…happen to hear anything the night prior?”

There was some measure of hesitation in her voice that she had not intended to betray. To amend it, she cleared her throat and raised her gaze, meeting a pair of curious hazel eyes. The songstress cocked her head, her brows furrowing some. “No, I don’t believe so.”

So she had merely dreamed it. Of course—and why should she not have? Nightmares were not so uncommon. “I see.” Despite saying so, there remained a niggling sensation of discontent. As though that justification seemed insufficient. 

She had not meant to dwell upon that unease when with the regent again she met. 

Yet it remained, nested, burrowed beneath the stoic chambers of her heart even when upon her visage she forced an expression of a stoic, but polite attentiveness as her hostess served her a cup of tea—which smelled strongly of mint. Or might have—if the woman’s own fragrance had not been so stiflingly overpowering. 

“I trust you slept well, you majesty?” Her smile was simpering, far too sweet, too amicable for mere idle chatter as this. 

Edelgard lifted her cup to her lips, breathing in the soothing scent, sharp and biting—a refreshing reprieve from the floral fragrance the regent had doused herself in. “No. Unfortunately I was restless. Slumber did not easily befall me, nor with me remain.”

The regent’s smile faltered and a practiced expression of sympathy took its place. “I am sorry to hear that.” The woman managed to look thoroughly distraught by the admission, as though it was truly a failure on her part that her guest had not slept through the night. “Perhaps I could offer you a tonic should sleep desert you still.”

“A tonic?” Finding her tea a tad too bitter, the emperor carefully stirred a spoonful of honey into the scalding liquid. “You deal in tonics?” From what she could recall—the woman had been a healer of sorts before she had assumed her place in the court of the king. She wondered if tonics were all that she dealt in.

A small smile reappeared upon her lips and the woman nodded. “Yes, my lady. I am well learned in the arts of alchemy and medicine.” 

“Curious.” She tapped her spoon against the cup, the sound seeming to ring through the little room in which she they had been situated. “Now then, Regent Arnim.” She set the spoon aside. “There is no cause to delay discussing that which you have truly sought me for.” Her lilac eyes scoured the woman’s countenance, searching for a glimmer of distress—or otherwise, and found it. Not quite distress; a flicker of irritation. “I am to infer that you have not been able to win the lords of the north to empire’s banner.”

Her peony brows crinkled and the woman did not answer for a moment, clamping a lip between her teeth almost imperceptibly. “A few remain…obstinate, your majesty. They cling to their foolish ways, lost in the dark, blind to the light but a finger’s reach away.”

“So I have been told. One of these such, as you say, obstinate lords is the head of the Fraldarius territory, is that not so?” Edelgard held the woman’s verdant gaze unflinchingly, surveying every shift in her expression. The woman affirmed the statement, seeming rather guarded. “I intend to summon for him.”

Surprise flickered through those grass green eyes and the regent straightened some. “Summon him here?” Why, she could not help but wonder, did such a strange light seem to pass through her gaze. 

“Yes.” She relaxed her posture and eased her elbows to the table, choosing to appear leisurely before the woman. “I have decided it prudent to speak with these dissenters. Perhaps a diplomatic agreement might be settled.” She peered into her own reflection, but for a moment, it was not her own face that she had seen. A pair of blue eyes gleamed back, but when she blinked, her own stared in return. “Regardless of what others say of me, I do not desire needless bloodshed.” 

The regent smiled, one more stiff than the others had been. “You are wise, your majesty. Perhaps he might be acquainted with the dungeons, for clarity of mind, in case such irrational ideas persist.”

Indeed, there was something off-putting in the woman’s grin, and more in her words. Edelgard frowned at her host, finding it strange that dungeons were the foremost and optimal choice. “I hardly find such drastic action necessary. It is the people’s right to be discontent with their ruler, and their right to put their qualms to word.”

Whatever remark the woman had wished to make was yet interrupted. A man dressed in thick layers, flaked with quickly melting snow swept into the room and bowed low. “My lady, your majesty.”

There seemed a quickness to his breath that betrayed his having run here. Edelgard watched the woman rise, her thus far amiable countenance turning to carven stone before the messenger. “What occurrence dictates the intrusion of her majesty’s leisure?” She may as well have hissed for how tight the woman’s voice had grown. 

But the man did not heed his liege’s ire, his own fright was too great. “Another—my lady—another.” His voice wavered and trembled and the words fought to tumble off his tongue coherently. His babbling seemed nonsensical to her, but the regent paled and stiffened, and it seemed that she understood.

Her brows furrowed and she rose as well, intrigued. “What has happened?” 

“Nothing to concern yourself with, your majesty. Please, I will see to this matter myself.” When the peony-haired woman turned to her again, she found that she had been mistaken. It was not fear that had drained the color from her skin but anger. There was a fierce wrath burning in her verdant eyes. 

“I think not.” Edelgard would not sit back, of course not, when it seemed that an opportunity had presented itself so cleanly. “Please, lead the way.” She beckoned the woman forth, knowing well that she could not be denied, and the regent knew it as well. Her jaw tightened with no small amount of displeasure, but the woman forced a smile and nodded tersely, her façade having faded some. 

And so the quivering man led both of them—through the gaping corridors, the bleak and barren halls, to a world that had been painted with a fresh coat of snow. She had not even realized that it had snowed the night prior. The city seemed, if nothing else, a tad livened by the addition of the powdery stuff. It no longer looked as miserable.

But it was not that which kept her attention for long. 

Her eyes were drawn sideward when a flicker of color danced in the corner of her gaze. Not white nor gray—a stark contrast. Crimson. 

At first she saw the scarlet spattering the snow, drop by drop, trickling from the tip of a pale blue finger, joined to a frigid arm—and just barely attached to a mangled shoulder. 

It took a moment, as she blinked once, again, to comprehend what it was—the mound of mutilated, bloody flesh. And the image became clearer—a pile of bodies, barely distinguishable now from the human form, stacked into a small cart. 

There was one man in the pile whose head was turned towards her own—but he lacked a face. There was one eye dangling limply from what had been a socket, and a scrap of pale, blue-tinged skin hanging from a half-torn ear. Bone peaked from beneath a mush of red. 

There was another, laid atop the pile, whose chest had been ripped from navel to throat, pink snakes bursting from his bloated skin. His scarlet spattered jaw was gaping, frozen in a silent woeful wail. 

Someone had simply lost their head. A stump remained where it had been, weeping beads of blood, strings of torn tissue mourning the departure of their partners. 

These corpses were…well, recent. 

She tore her gaze away, turning to the man that had alerted them—who himself could not look at the grisly sight. “From whence do these come?” What manner of beast could have so cruelly disfigured what had been human forms. 

“Found this morn—milady—near the edge of the wood.” The man stammered, his lip twitching as he glanced at the silent regent. His voice dropped to a mere fearful whisper. “He’s back, ladyship—the beast—,”

“Nonsense.” Quickly, perhaps too quickly to be innocuous. “You need not fill her majesty’s head with superstitions. It seems as though the wolves are on the prowl again.” She hardly seemed perturbed by the vision of death bleeding before her eyes. 

Even so—ascribing an attack as this to mere wolves. Edelgard could not but scoff at the notion. It was more than apparent that the regent was giving an effort to spare her any details. “Wolves do not make a habit of hunting humans, Regent Arnim.”

“When driven to desperation, my lady. Prey is scarce in the north, what choice do the poor creatures have but to satisfy their craving upon the flesh of man?” Her voice and eyes did not match. Her tone was saccharine, sympathetic—her eyes scornful…arrogant? What reason did the woman have to be arrogant for? Why did there seem a barb imbedded in her words—and towards whom?

The emperor raised a brow, studying the curious expression for a moment. The smell of iron wafted into her nose, mingling with the sting of bitter cold. “I am unconvinced by this rationale. Even were this so, they need not have staved their hunger off of so many—nor would they have left so much…flesh behind.”

Edelgard payed no heed to the cold growing chill as she turned her attention to the shivering man. “What is this beast that you mentioned afore?”

There was hesitation in his eyes as he glanced from her, to the woman not so distant from her. At last, he swallowed, the lump in his throat bobbing. “It’s—naught but a, a story, ladyship. But the people say there’s…a monster lurking in that wood. It went away and now it’s back.”

A monster that enjoyed the thrill of tearing through flesh. It seemed unlikely, fantastical—and yet, she could not ascribe this behavior to that of any animal. It was near winter, bears were unlikely to be about, nor would they actively seek the presence of humans. Strange indeed. And it had left? Returned? Wherefore? 

She turned suddenly towards the woman, her brows rising. “You...some years past, they say you were beset upon by a beast. Your entourage was slaughtered and you alone survived.” The light of recognition dawned in her gaze and the woman nodded, corroborating the declaration. 

“Yes—yes, my lady.” As though she had simply forgotten an errand. “Of course—five years ago. A horrific event truly, I shudder to recall it.” So she said, but there was hardly an ounce of distress in her countenance. In fact, it almost seemed as though there was a glimmer of deceit within her gaze. Whatever it was, it was unsavory and did not bode well.

Edelgard kept her countenance solemn, clearing her throat. “Is it possible that this is the same beast that assaulted you then?” She sought to gauge the woman’s response, surveying the nuanced flickers in her eyes—for nothing else betrayed her intentions. 

Cunning. This woman was cunning. “Perhaps it is.” Her visage displayed distress, an urgent panic. Her eyes did not. “If this is so…” Her gaze traveled to the corpses piled atop each other, puddling scarlet over the white. “Then I fear for the security of this city.”

Wolves—and now a beast. Allegedly the beast that had slaughtered the late prince. The day had been strange and grew stranger still. Edelgard turned her gaze to the cart, appraising the mangled flesh, the enormity of the damage done—beyond the power of any mere animal, beyond that of even man. 

She supposed that no one would have any definitive answers as to what this beast was in actuality—no one save for the woman that had supposedly survived it. Yet something whispered in her heart that she would receive no truthful account should she ask. No, indeed not. That left her with only one course of action. 

Edelgard straightened and raised her chin, lifting her gaze to peer out at the city. “Regent Arnim, send a summons to the Fraldarius estate and declare that I request the lord’s presence.” As for herself until his arrival…

She did not wait for the woman’s assent. The emperor turned and returned to the solace of the palace halls—as much of a solace as they could be. Her eyes grew grim and her lips pressed together. Her axe had laid in wait, Aymr had rested patiently, awaiting her hand. 

She wished to meet this beast. If truly such a menace it was to the city, to her fellow man, then she supposed there was no better option than to ride out to see it herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's midnight and I'm tired, but at least I got it done today! 
> 
> Wow, my brain is ceasing to function, so maybe i need to sleep.
> 
> Anyway, I think we'll see _his_ appearance at last next time. And maybe some other weird stuff--but for sure I'll attempt to write an action scene....something notoriously difficult. I swear this is actually Dimigard--it will be!


	4. Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Into the wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaa I managed to get this out

“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

At long last, after having been pondering whether or not to speak her thoughts, the hazel-haired woman sighed and clicked her nail against her chalice, frowning at her friend. 

Truly, it was no surprise to hear, either. Edelgard had been expecting the comment for some time now, after having told the songstress of her decision. “Perhaps not.” Undoubtedly it could not be considered among the wisest of schemes she had concocted. “But I see no other option.”

A scoff tumbled from the hazel-haired woman’s lips as she raised her glass and sipped at what remained of the wine within it. “No other option?” She remained thoroughly unconvinced. Dorothea raised her head and pursed her lips, peering into the growing darkness of the world outside, the falling flakes that twirled past in violent enthusiasm. “Edie, Hubert wouldn’t let you do this.”

“And Hubert is not here.” Her eyes fell upon the cup resting before her, a curl of steam drifting upward. “Everything that you have told me merely acts as encouragement.”

Now it was an angry huff that puffed through her nose and the woman leaned closer, frowning. “It should be discouraging, Edie. You’ve seen yourself what that…thing does. Everyone fears it—no one has been able to kill it. You think you can?” The songstress seemed distraught to an unfamiliar degree. Was this situation truly so distressing to think of?

“I am strong.” She bit out and felt her own brows furrow as a growing ire bubbled in her chest. Perhaps arrogant to say, but this arrogance was well earned. 

Her friend’s eyes grew wide with astonishment, disbelief. “Well so was the prince!” She exclaimed, her tresses tossed back and forth as she shook her head. “They all said that—the prince was monstrously strong, and still, he died.”

It might have been a startling, sobering revelation—but she did not wish to think of it. Anger, not quite directed towards her friend, began to hiss through her heart. “So what then? I am to simply let this beast wander free? Shall no one then challenge it? You told me yourself that the people find it a plague upon them. They live in fear of its shadow, cowering like sheep—and they may as well be sheep to that creature. While the people of the north starve and feed off of scraps, that beast grows fat on their flesh.”

She had not meant to grow so impassioned—over this matter of all. Edelgard bit her tongue and sighed, easing the stiffness that had overtaken her shoulders. “Forgive me, Dorothea, I had not intended to be so short with you.” Her voice was a murmur as she reached for the cup and raised it to her lips. 

But as she lifted her gaze she saw that there was no scowl marring the woman’s countenance—in place there was rather a tired smile, a melancholy in her gaze. The songstress was quiet a moment, swirling the red fluid in her glass. “I wish this was the side of you that your people saw.” A forlorn laugh and the woman rested her chin on her palm, once again turning her eyes to the mournful scape beyond the window. “Brave and noble, and so caring. These people aren’t even yours, and yet still you care for them, are willing to fight for their behalf.”

She could not help the wry smile that curved her mouth. “Then when I fall to the beast’s hunger, you have my permission to write an ode in my memory.” A huff of indignation stung the air, but she merely laughed, not truly desiring any songs nor ballads to be written after her passing. It had been a jest and naught more. The smile faded from her countenance and her eyes lost the glimmer of mirth. “This is my duty.”

“Yes; it is always duty with you.” Her friend looked truly doleful then, sighing as she leaned back, perhaps resigned and unwilling to debate this matter further. “It always has been, and no doubt always will be.” 

Edelgard studied her friend’s expression, a tinge of remorse tugging at her heart. It brought her no joy to see the woman worry for her, and of course she could not lay blame on her for doing so. It was warranted, this concern. “Such is my lot in this life.” Her eyes flicked to the window, following the flurry of flakes, watching the earth grow white and frosted. “I have made my peace with it.” She had, long ago. She had decided to lay down her own wants and desires when she had assumed the mantle of emperor. There was no place left for selfishness nor a leisurely manner. 

She shook her head, combing her fingers through a snag in her white locks. “Tell me again. You said someone had seen the prince before he had left.” 

With a soft sigh, the songstress nodded, somewhat glumly, pushing aside her emptied glass. Twirling a strand of her hair about a finger, she allowed her eyes to wander, scouring the room in which the emperor had been permitted to reside. After a moment, they fell upon the blue curtain and her brow rose in inquisitiveness. “The old smith.” Dorothea recalled, somewhat distracted, examining the curtains, perhaps curious as to what hid behind them. “He cared for his highness’ weapons—often repaired them. Apparently the man had a tendency to break them in the vigor of his training.” The thought seemed to amuse her to some degree. 

“Wonderful, but that is not what I had inquired into.” She held back a sigh and took another draught of her cooling tea—a soothing cup of chamomile. Her gaze drifted briefly to the untouched bottle resting atop the table. The tonic the regent had offered her—to aid in finding slumber, so she was told. In truth, she did not know whether it was true, and furthermore had no desire to taste it. 

“What’s behind those?” No longer able to restrain herself from querying, the songstress nodded to the curtains.

The emperor glanced up and frowned. “A portrait of the royal family.” Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, a piece of stiff wood. “I could not abide by their glowers.” It was as though something was creeping up her throat, a foul, acrid sensation—like bile. 

The woman sent her a strange look and rose, lightly stepping towards the veiled painting. Edelgard did not turn her head when the woman pulled apart the strips of cloth. She did not need to; she recalled the portrait with perfect clarity. “This is certainly masterful. My, my—the king was certainly a handsome man.” Humor touched at her tone, and even she could not withhold the puff of air that served as a laugh. “And this boy—the prince?”

“Yes. Prince Dimitri.” She affirmed rigidly, almost choking on the word. It tasted like ash in her mouth, dry and cold and dead. His eyes—they were peering at her. She felt them, staring, staring. She forced the thought aside and cleared her throat, settling her hands atop her lap. “Dorothea—you never did answer me.”

Why did that infernal gaze not look away?

“Ah—of course.” With a dazzling smile, the woman returned the pieces of fabric to their places and traversed the room to return to the table. “The smith.” With a gentle cough, the woman nodded and schooled her expression into one of solemnity. “He heard the prince and the regent speaking—though he could not hear all of it—he heard them speaking of the path that they were to travel. He told me he had always found it odd, but the woman insisted upon a…needlessly lengthy and obscure route.”

“What mean you by this?” Edelgard was admittedly not entirely familiar with the wood that sprouted on the city’s doorstep. 

“He told me that he had been a hunter in his youth and knew the wood well—the route that the regent had been demanding they follow was far off of any trodden paths.” Her own countenance grew pensive as she spoke, her fingers tapping against her cheek as she pondered. “He said that the prince had been inquiring as to her reasons for this, but she could give no definite answer, merely continued to insist. 

“And he gave in to her request.” Edelgard inferred with a sigh, shaking her head. Good heavens, the late prince could not be called unintelligent—he most certainly had been. No, he was trusting to a fault, naïve. All too willing to believe in the hearts of others. 

Dorothea nodded, smiling lamely, and her hand fell to the table as she sighed. “And interestingly, this man told me also that prior to the prince’s disappearance—there had been tales of a beast—but only as a tale told to naughty children. No one had truly believed in it. And of course, hunters ventured into the wood and came back living, no sign of such a horrid creature to be found.”

“You mean to say that prior to this event, there had been no beast?” Somehow, it did not astonish her as it might have. Further suspicion grew, coiling like a vine of thorns around her heart. Coincidental, or deliberate? If there had been such a wicked creature dwelling in those woods, the royal party had ventured deep enough to have awoken it and its cruel desires. And if this was so—had the woman known of it and intentionally led them upon that path? 

It seemed that all of these strange occurrences revolved purely around the woman upon whom she had thrust the welfare and reign of the north. Upon her uncle’s behest. She had certainly thought it odd then that he had so pressed for the woman’s inheritance of the northern crown. 

A startling notion occurred to her then. 

Her uncle—had he…anything to do with this? What if there was some ploy playing out behind the curtains of the stage that she remained ignorant of? 

Her lips pressed together tightly and her brows pinched together in growing ire. Such a thought was dangerous. The lord Arundel was one of the few ardent supporters that remained loyal to her—loyal. And what if were not so? Hubert had always had his suspicions, and he was allowed to—it was not him that relied upon such support, she did not have that luxury. 

Her eyes closed and a quiet groan slipped from her lips. This situation seemed to have become a greater headache than she had been expecting. Was she truly so paranoid? Or was she correct in carrying such doubts of her kin?

“Are you okay?” Her friend’s voice quelled the turmoil in her mind for a moment, and the emperor managed a meek nod. 

“Certainly.” Perhaps not so certain, if her voice wavered as it had upon slinking from her tongue. “Weary, I believe.” If only it were weariness that befell her and not this influx of tumultuous and worrisome ideas. The woman cleared her throat and straightened her posture, offering a strained smile to her visitor. “My nights have been…restless.”

Dorothea’s eyes widened as she glanced at the oversized bed, her brows rising in disbelief. “Really? You’d think sleeping on that would be comfortable, to say the least.” It was with no small amount of envy that the woman eyed the furnishing, frowning. 

Comfort was hardly the issue at hand, but she would not give voice to that confession. Edelgard merely shrugged, peering into the ambered fluid in her cup. “Perhaps I am yet simply unaccustomed to this place.” A reasonable excuse, a better one, she determined, than admitting that her dreams had been troubling of late. From the first night of their arrival and every night since. 

The woman hummed, seemingly unconvinced, but she did not press the matter. “Well, in time, then. How long do you plan on staying?” A query posed in curiosity, innocuously asked. 

Edelgard pressed her lips together as she pondered, not quite knowing the answer. “Well, longer than I had expected. I suppose, as long as needed to resolve the tensions here. I take that Hubert can manage things well enough without my presence.” She dragged her hand down her face and sighed, peering through squinted eyes at the woman across her. Sothis willing, she would not in fact meet her doom whilst seeking the beast. Her stay would then be indefinite. 

Alas, she knew not when this foul business would be concluded. The woman combed her fingers through her whitened hair, her spirits low. 

“Goodness, this storm is truly awful.” 

Upon the exclamation, she lifted her head and turned her gaze to the white hurricane that had begun to tear through the world. Indeed, there was naught to see but a flurry of white. Regardless of what her plans had been, it seemed that they were to be thwarted by the frigid northern weather. They could not very well travel back to the south through such impassible conditions. 

Edelgard could not but sigh as she realized that she would most like be sequestered here until spring. 

But what was to be done? There was no cause in voicing such complaints; no good would come of it. A small, wry smile quirked her lips and the woman looked at her friend. “I am glad that you are here after all. It would have been terribly lonely here if I had come alone.” She supposed that she was glad for Hubert’s insistence. At least she would not suffer these months in solitude. 

Dorothea grinned in a cheeky manner, tossing her hair in mock arrogance. “But of course. I dare say you wouldn’t make it a week here on your own, Edie.” The woman teased lightly, but her amusement lasted for no more than a moment. A soft sigh tumbled from her lips and she shook her head, her eyes growing doleful. “I still wish I could change your mind. When do you mean to ride out?”

Ah, of course. The original subject of their discourse. Edelgard frowned and tapped her cheek faintly, her shoulders sagging as she sighed. “I sent scouts to survey the last known area of attack yesterday. I meant to depart upon their return…but with this sudden foul northern temperament, I cannot be sure that they will.” At the very least, even if they did not return with news, she would depart as soon as the blizzard cleared. The stout northern steeds could withstand the frozen temperatures and deep snows. Besides, there would be less of it inside the wood itself, what with all those trees obscuring the ground below. 

“Edie…what if they don’t come back?” Dorothea’s concern grew, her brows tightening. “And I don’t mean that the snow had obstructed their path.” 

“You mean to suggest that the beast…?” How…had that notion not appeared to her afore? Of course that was entirely a possibility—that the pair she had sent to do her bidding would be buried beneath the growing layer of white dust, bleeding through grisly wounds, else had been devoured entirely. How foolish she had been! If indeed that beast had come upon them, what could two simple soldiers do? And she had been the one to send them to their deaths. 

The woman paled, a nauseating guilt churning in her stomach. And suddenly, she stood, resolve flickering through her lavender eyes. “All the more reason.” She declared firmly, refusing to bow to the remorse that tugged down her heart. “All the more reason to ride out and bring back that monster’s head. If I have so foolishly allowed my men to die, then I must amend my ignorance with mine own hand.” 

Perhaps their frozen corpses would aid in discovering the beast. Mark a trail or a path upon which to descend. At least they would not have died in vain. 

At last, she lowered her head and submitted to her growing weariness. “Thank you for having kept me company, Dorothea. I believe I wish to rest.” The woman bit back a sigh and ran a hand through tousled snowy locks. She wished to rest, yet, but whether or not that rest would come was a different matter entirely. 

“Yes, of course.” The woman quickly gathered the cloak she had shed and took her leave, sparing a glimpse over her shoulder with no small measure of concern. But Edelgard had already turned and begun to make ready to go abed.

With a quiet sigh, the woman began to unlace her gown, peering distractedly at the wintry storm that raged outside her window. There was no simple way to remain composed about this. She meant to march into what very well may be her own death. She knew not what awaited her in that wood—whether it was some grotesque beast or simply an animal that had gained an exaggerated reputation. And it did not matter.

Regardless of what it truly was, she would put it to rest, or she would be put to rest. Or perhaps would be left suffering in agonizing undeath while that creature feasted on her innards and the northern wood would be her frozen grave. 

She was strong—of that there was little doubt. She was well learned in the arts of battle—of all manner of foe, she would like to think. Sothis and Seiros willing, that strength would extend to the coming encounter. 

It was with a heavy heart and tired hand that she tugged a thin nightgown over her head, tugging it over her body. The woman glanced at the blazing hearth, bright and alive with a burning fire, crackling softly against the silence of the storm. It gave the cold room a warm glow and banished the descending darkness. She had taken to slumbering with the hearth lit since the first night of her arrival. It gave her some semblance of comfort before sleep tugged down her lids. 

The woman lumbered to the great bed, her limbs growing heavy, each blink threatening to keep her lids plastered over her weary eyes. Yet weariness was not enough. Not nearly enough—for regardless of the exhaustion that had begun to tear at her composure day by day, still her nights were fitful and full of nightmarish…visions? No—for there was not even a sight to bring her grief.

Her dreams were dark—a thick, blackness that swirled about her and dragged her into an endless abyss. And there she choked on smoke and dust heard the wrathful howling of a monster that crept ever nearer. 

And when she woke each night, she half expected to find some warped creature lying atop her, sinking its fangs into her throat, her blood sweet and scarlet, seeping into the silken cloth below her body. 

But no such foul sight greeted her vision. She woke to naught but the faint glow of the dimming embers and the silence of a slumbering night—and only she remained wakeful. 

She could not but wonder why, as she climbed beneath the covers, she alone suffered such perturbing dreams. Had some malignant curse gripped her mind and warped the contents of her reality to haunt her in her sleep? Was this too a product of that woman’s enchantment? And what if it were—what if this indeed had been some sort of vile scheme concocted to drive her to madness.

Her uncle’s narrowed, amethyst gaze peered into her mind—she saw his serpentile smile, the words that dripped from his lips, venomous, treasonous. Did he intend to usurp her throne? Was this his ploy? To send her to the north and drive the sanity from her mind, send her to a grisly demise in the depths of the wood.

By the saints—what had her mind turned to? 

Edelgard’s eyes flicked open and she peered at the canopy overhead, astonished by the paranoia that had caught her thoughts in a web. Perhaps it was for the lack of her stalwart companion whose lot it fell upon to ruminate upon such possibilities that she had taken the toil on instead. 

A scoff tumbled from her throat and she forced her eyes closed once more, determined to grasp at but even a moment of slumber. 

But they would not allow it. No—they would not allow it.

She heard their voices, hissed; cruel, and vengeful and full of malice. This intruder, this imperial plague that dared dwell in their halls, taint the purity of the north. 

A child’s voice joined in the chorus of fury, fearful, morose—and it called her name. Over and over and over—that sweet voice, bestowing upon her a sweeter title. The name of her youth. And that one voice began to cry over the others—and that voice cried and cried and soon no longer was it sweet.

That child’s voice grew warped and twisted, mingling with the snarl of a creature unknown. Yet still she heard her name. 

El—it said, so harsh and ugly was that voice—El—again, and it sounded almost as though that snarling voice was wailing in agony.

Save

Me

It was then that her eyes opened. 

Those words soured on the tip of her tongue, spreading a foul taste through her mouth. A quiet noise pervaded the silence, the shuffling of the maidens as they readied her attire for the day. The gentle crackle of the hearth—the fire fed, feasting contentedly upon a new stack of wooden slabs. She saw that the room was bright, the light of a new dawn filtering through the window—the white light that only a frosted wintry day could form. 

She had slept through the night—but still her eyes remained burdened by want of further rest, her limbs and body stiff and heavy. It felt as though she had been awake through the entirety of the moon’s cycle. 

A groan flickered through her clamped teeth and slowly, the woman forced her weary body to rise, sweeping a bleary gaze across the room. Indeed the maiden called Lydia had returned—dutifully setting yet another bland breakfast upon the small table by the window. A mug with steam curling from around the rims was a blessed sight—coffee would, mercifully, tear some of this weariness from her and rouse the functions of her mind.

“Are the roads passable?” Her voice sounded feeble, even to her own ears—and the yawn that followed the mumbled words offered no consolation as to her state. 

Still, not having expected to hear anything, the young woman startled, her frightened gaze flitting to her as the emperor began to pull herself from the warmth of her bed and into the chill of day. 

Edelgard tugged on a robe as she wandered towards the table, knowing well her hair was a mass of tangled white strands, dancing about her face in manic knots. She pressed her hand to her lips as yet another yawn split them apart and forced its way, and heavily she sat, reaching for the steaming mug without a moment of delay. Without even a care for the bitter taste that assaulted her tongue, she swallowed the scalding fluid.

“Well, I—the snows fell heavily mid the night.” The young woman answered at last, watching as she downed as much of the black stuff as she could without retching. “Do you require cream, milady?”

Usually, she did. Edelgard waved aside the girl’s concern, grimacing as she swallowed yet another mouthful. “Is it possible to travel to the wood?” She reiterated, raising her eyes to study the young woman coolly. She noted the moment the realization dawned in the maiden’s eyes, watching them widen. 

With no small measure of hesitation, the young woman offered a brisk nod. “It is. Though not for much longer.”

She took the chance to peer out the window, noting that there had been a berth between the wintry deluge—and now though the clouds hung dark and grey, obscuring the sun, the white nuisance had ceased to fall. If she did not ride out this day, then no such opportunity would be granted her when the rest of the storm decided to release its wrath upon the land. 

“Lydia, would you prepare me something suitable for this weather?” She made her mind then, deciding it best to go and survey the wood today. There was no cause to delay the venture. As the maiden murmured her assent, she turned and quickly consumed the meal set before her, unheeding of the tasteless gruel that seemingly counted for some sort of soup. 

As soon as she had swallowed the last of it, she rose and traversed the chamber to the place in which she had left her faithful axe. Aymr rested patiently against the wall, seeming to gleam with an animate excitement. She inspected the condition of the beauteous spines, sighing as she skimmed her finger along the rim. It had been some time since the weapon had known use.

Soon, perhaps. 

She gripped the handle and tested the weight, familiarizing herself with its might once more, a wisp of a smile dancing across her lips. A fine weapon to bring a rampaging beast to heel. 

“Milady, is this sufficient?” A quiet voice drew her attention from the burden in her hands and to the docile figure standing distant. The girl’s head was bowed in polite deference, and the emperor saw that the maiden had indeed assembled some sort of garments. 

She did not relinquish her hold on the axe as she returned to the bed, upon which the clothing had been laid out. A thick, coarse tunic, heavy, fleece-lined leggings, a pair of long boots that should serve to keep the snow from freezing her feet. Her own cloak had been folded beside the garments. Edelgard nodded tersely in approval, yet seeing one piece that had been disregarded. “My breastplate.” She added, knowing well that it was folly to meet the mythical creature without any sort of armor, regardless of the weight that it would add to her person. 

The woman scurried to find the requested piece as she began to strip herself of her nightly wear. The bitter fluid had done its duty and the sleep had skittered from her mind. It was a false wakefulness, but even illusory was better than naught. 

“This, your majesty?” Slightly muffled, strained as the woman exerted her effort in dragging forth a shining golden plate—only a single piece of the entire ensemble. Were she to don all of it, trudging through the terrain would be a nightmarish ordeal in itself. 

Edelgard nodded, tugging up the warm leggings, content with the garments gathered together. It was enough, she deemed, to withstand the frigid environment, nor too weighty to enfeeble her so much that she would not be able to move. 

The girl helped her into the golden armor, though evidently unaccustomed to dealing with such attire, if even it could be named so. 

Lastly, she clipped the weighted cloak over her shoulders and slipped on a pair of gloves, determining that she was ready when at long last her axe returned to her grip. “Alert my companion to my departure and see that a suitable mount is prepared for me and my company.” Her men too needed to be readied. She would not waste northern lives on this task—they had watered the earth enough with their own blood. 

Lydia hurried to do her bidding, and Edelgard decided to pay the regent a visit of her own, perhaps see if the woman had any parting words—of wisdom or of warning. A grim smile curled her lips as she noted that whichever it was poised to be, undoubtedly it could not be taken at face value. There were guises behind each sweetly spoken syllable and deceit slithering in every coiling word. 

Perhaps it was curiosity that drove her to the woman’s quarters, or simply the desire to see the woman’s new act. 

She was poised regally outside the woman’s door as a maiden called for the regent’s attention. Edelgard allowed herself no opportunity to display the doubt that had sprouted like a vile weed in her heart. Until she had been given, or discovered adequate evidence to thoroughly implicate the woman, she need act as though there was no such suspicion clouding her rationale. 

It was not more than a moment that she was admitted into the steward’s quarters, lush and tastefully furnished. The woman herself greeted her, her countenance graced with a welcoming smile, delightfully charming. “Your majesty—a fair morning to you. I hope your night was not so troubling as before.” The woman swept a hand towards the table in an invitation, perhaps to dine, or for a cup of tea.

Edelgard frowned, declining the offer, shifting the weight of her axe from one hand to the other—and it was then that the regent had noted the gleaming weapon. “It was much the same. But that is beside the point. I have come to give you tidings—I intend to ride out with my company in search of this so-called beast.”

She examined the woman’s eyes as she spoke, searching for any sign of despair or concern—there was none. No—in fact it seemed that a glimmer of excitement sprang alight in her verdant gaze. Still, remorse was feigned and the woman shook her head. “Are you certain? This seems to me a dangerous endeavor, your majesty—what with the winter storms drifting through.” She managed to look thoroughly distraught as she clicked her tongue and wrung her hands. 

Every word this woman spoke was false. What of this woman was not a guise? Edelgard restrained her ire and dismissed the concerns, knowing well that they were to placate the duty of the servile position that she kept in comparison. “I choose to believe that all will be well.” With a faint breath, she reached up and swept aside the braid that she had plaited upon her way. 

Well, there was naught more to be said. She had alerted her host as to her intentions, and thus was free to pursue this drastic action. The emperor remained silent as she nodded her head in farewell and duly turned to take her leave. 

A curt interaction—if only they could all go so smoothly, and quickly. 

The woman strode down the cavernous halls, her visage frozen in an expression of resolve. She refused to bow to fear, nor to trepidation. There was no place in her heart for things as those. Hesitation belonged elsewhere; it would not stay her hand. She had chosen her course and she would see it to completion, regardless of the outcome.

Of course, it was preferable that the outcome was favorable. 

The world outside had been swathed in a veil of white velvet. Gone was the grey, morose city that had greeted her afore. It seemed that the snow had somehow livened the dead city. That the breath of frost would bring some semblance of color to the bleak scape. 

She spared a moment peering into the desolate environment, almost entranced by the sight sprawling before her. It did not snow so heavily in the mild climate of the south—and not at all where she spent her days. To think that such beauty would come of it, a blanket of soft white flakes. Even the wood looked not nearly so threatening when veiled with the bitter frost. 

It seemed a silver gleam had settled upon the land, and almost was she loath to disturb the untouched tranquility. 

Alas, she could not remain rooted in place, admiring the vision before her. With nary a sound, she turned and departed to the stables where awaited her company—already saddled and prepared to ride upon her word. 

A solemn soldier strode forth, the reins of a stolid white steed in hand, and with a bow, gave her the strips of leather. She said naught as she climbed atop the mount, gathering the reins and steering the stamping stallion to the snow-laden path. She saw that it had been cleared some, mounds of the stuff pushed to the sides for ease of access. And as she made her departure, she saw that all the roads of the city were as such. 

Her company was grim, and so too was her visage. No joy nor mirth was to be found upon any face. There were few that did not fathom the true peril into which they had chosen to ride. Those that had not seen the remains of the corpses had heard of the condition that they had been brought in. Spirits were low and fear coiled through trembling hearts. Fear silenced wagging tongues and felled all thoughts of arrogance. 

Words held no meaning—of consolation, or inspiration—if uttered, they would be empty, hollow platitudes. Thus she remained silent. Why waste breath on foolish phrases, rather she would savor each frigid swallow, fill her lungs whilst she still possessed the ability to do so. 

Perhaps by the time the moon had made its ascent, her lungs would have been ripped from her chest. Yet she gained nothing from think of such dour occurrences. These thoughts only served to exacerbate the already paralyzing tension. By the saints—they had but barely passed the city gates and already she had allowed such bleak futures to cross her mind. 

Or perhaps it was well that she remained sober to these possibilities. There was naught to be gained but false hope from believing that this was a simple task. False hope was dangerous, it gave rise to an unearned arrogance and lent the individual to overconfidence. 

A breath hissed between her teeth as she forced such thoughts aside. Clarity of mind and a steady hand would do better than needless agonizing over whether her heart would beat its last this day. 

She snapped her reins and the steed beneath her snorted, breaking into a canter, as well as it could as away from the cleared roads they wandered and delved into the silvery abyss. Her company followed after. 

The wood that had stood sentry upon her way afore now loomed, foreboding, mocking. 

Her breath puffed from her lips in a frosted mist as ever nearer that dark place drew, as though it and not she were creeping forth. 

For a moment—the world went still, so it seemed. Silence—everything vanished in a veil of white, and naught was to be heard but for her own quiet pants, the wind whistling in her ears. Cold snapped at her cheeks, sharp bites that stung. Her gaze remained focused on the depths, the gnarled branches, the boughs tipped with white. For a moment, she forgot all. 

He was waiting.

She blinked, startling herself by the sudden revelation. He—who was waiting? Was she truly so fatigued? Her lips curled into a grimace and the world returned to her. She was not in solitude—there was an entourage of soldiers riding behind her. The voice that she had heard had been a dream—an illusion, and naught more. 

So why had it come to the forefront of her mind again? Could she not separate her nightly visions from her waking reality? 

“Your majesty!”

The voice tore her from her ruminations. The woman pulled the reins, swiveling her neck to peer at the one that had called for her. A helmeted man rode closer, and upon seeing that he had earned her attention, he extended his hand and pointed. “That horse—.”

He need not say more. It was the mount of one of those that she had sent to survey the paths along the exterior of the wood. 

Wordlessly, she steered her mount and directed her course towards the lone stallion. The beast huffed and stamped impatiently as she approached, its ears flicking back and forth. Riderless. And where had the rider gone? Why had he left his saddle—if even he had. Perhaps he had been pulled from it brusquely. 

“Shall we enter here or further down, your majesty?” The same soldier dared to inquire, waiting just a short distance from her. He betrayed no trepidation; his voice was firm, no tremble to his tone. 

Edelgard examined the horse once more, her eyes flitting from one detail to the next. There was little that would give an account of what had happened. No blood was splashed upon its hide nor on the saddle. Perhaps the horse had spooked and bucked its rider off its back, finding its own way to the freedom outside the wooded halls. 

Slowly, her gaze rose, resting upon the great wall of pines sprawling forth. Whether here or elsewhere, she doubted that it mattered. “If there is such a beast as they claim there to be, it will find us.” It was close enough to have torn those unfortunate men apart—it was wandering near to the vicinity of the city. Perhaps it was waiting just a breadth away, watching them as they spoke, waiting for the moment to strike. 

“We enter here.” She turned from the lone stallion and looked at the imposing wood, no small amount of dread threatening to churn her gut. There were yet so many unknowns. This beast—big or small, fast or slow, intelligent or purely feral—the only clear knowledge she had of this notorious creature was that it was strong enough to tear through great numbers of men with ease. 

All else was vague. 

The woman heaved a weighted breath and straightened her posture, refusing to permit her trepidation to cleave her resolve. She had determined to see this through. She had avowed vengeance for the departed. “Make ready. Utter your prayers, steel your souls. We know not what awaits us beyond this moment.” Edelgard turned and roved her gaze over the ranks of soldiers, her heart stuttering. “If you choose to follow me into this abyss, then you knowingly submit yourself to the possibility of your demise.”

They were silent, still as stone—two rows of metallic figures, lances rising like barbs from each hand. For a breath, there was no sound—the stray nicker of a discontent stallion. 

She swallowed, her hand seeking the weight of her axe, strapped securely to her saddle. “If any of you chooses to spare your own life, the moment to turn back is now.” None stirred. They looked on, stalwart soldiers. A flicker of a grim smile danced across her lips, fading as soon as it had arrived. “You are good men.” There was naught more to be said. Good men died too. 

No moment more was wasted. 

The woman turned and led her mount into the depths. Indeed the snow was shallower, not nearly so obstructive a force as it had been on the open plains. The storm had been caught in the branches above, only a mere sliver had trickled through the boughs to find purchase on the floor. It was still a rather impressive layer regardless. 

Her eyes wandered left and right, taking in the splendor of what was otherwise a beauteous scene. Flakes of snow peppered down from the branches above as a gentle wind rustled through the needles. The wood was quiet, calm—utterly still. It seemed lifeless entirely. No birdsong greeted her nor her company, no chittering of any woodland creatures. 

Deathly quiet. Serene. It seemed to her tranquil, morosely so. For how many souls had this place become a coffin? A solemn, frozen grave, trodden by so few. What a lonely place to perish, she thought. 

And thus resolved once more that she would not mark her end in this place. Roots would not overtake her fleshly form, nor snow entomb her in a frosted casket. 

She refused to meet death here. 

The woman spurred her mount forth, each gulp of air seeming colder than the last, crackling down her throat in icy bursts. The cold stung—it was bitter and vengeful and angry and each lash of wind seemed scalding. An early winter had thoroughly made its entrance. 

The horses’ hoof beats seemed almost too loud—direly audibly against the stark stillness that had engulfed them. A breath was too much noise. 

The men dared not murmur, and she too felt oppressed by the lifeless atmosphere. It was stifling, and though the air was brisk with winter, it felt stagnant, old. Trapped. It was near nauseating to think of. And so she deemed it prudent not to dwell on such discomfiting things. It would not do to perturb herself into a panicked delirium.

Alertness, awareness was of the greatest import. If they were caught unawares, that would mean their end. It seemed unlikely, however, that such a thing was possible. The wood was so utterly silent that the slightest noise would catch at least one man’s attention, and hers undoubtedly. 

Her gaze flicked back and forth, searching. Her body felt stiff, strained—tense throughout. Some part of her still hoped desperately that this was all some elaborate hoax, that there was no beast, that she was yet caught in another nightmare. 

A nightmare indeed, one she could not wake from. 

Even wrapped in the cloth of her gloves, her fingers grew numbed and stiff and often did she have to release the leather of the reins to rub them together. What good was her axe if her fingers could not grip the handle? 

She curled her cloak about herself tighter, seeking to conserve what little warmth remained in her. If the beast did not set upon them, then the cold surely would. A creeping, quiet death—peaceful, perhaps in comparison, but neither did she wish for that to occur.

Tree after tree passed her vision—all identical in her mind. There was no distinguishing between them. But for the tracks the horses left behind, if they veered off their path, there was no certainty of finding it again. 

Edelgard had never felt so out of place, thoroughly discontent. The cold was no friend to her, neither was this terrain. She could not but sigh as again her gaze scanned the unchanging scape. But for chance, perhaps a stroke of fortune, there seemed a blemish. 

She stilled her mount, blinking as she sought to fathom what it was she saw. After a moment, she slid off the stallion and trudged through the snow towards the mound—a sliver of darkness between the white. 

Carefully she knelt, sweeping her hand through the powdery stuff, stiffening at once when it became apparent what it was. It had been her scout. Her gaze traveled down the form, and gingerly, she pushed it to the side. Her stomach churned. 

It seemed that half his torso was missing. The metal plate had been wrenched away, the soft flesh beneath torn into. Cold had frozen the warmth of his blood and the fluid stuck to him in jagged, crimson chunks. With a cough, she moved away, her brows pinching together. She had not bid them to enter the wood. So why had they?

The woman closed her eyes and quieted her mind. This was not unanticipated. Still, if she had found the body of one—then the other must surely be somewhere further. She knew now that the beast had passed through this place. It was near. 

Nervousness began to coil in her belly despite her best effort to disregard it. She supposed that it was impossible to feel nothing, that the trembling of her hands was warranted, despite her attempt to guise it. It was impossible to not be afraid.

Still, the woman forced herself away from the lifeless corpse and returned to her waiting company. Her countenance was grim. 

Soundlessly, she pulled herself back up, wishing, just briefly, that Hubert had come with her. Wishing would accomplish nothing. So she set her eyes forward and did not let them stray. To turn her mind from fear, she allowed anger to spark in her heart, embers of fury burning the lingering terror from her chest. 

Ice seemed to splinter her lungs as she heaved a deep breath, a welcome distraction. For only a moment, though. 

Time seemed fluid and inconsequential as they had passed through the mirrored scape—so she could not tell how long it had been since they had left the first scout, but now they had happened upon the second. And his unfortunate mount.

The horse was laid upon its side, near all devoured. The gleaming bones of its ribs unfurled like claws from beneath the swath of snow. Only bits of muted flesh remained stuck to the spears of bone. The horse had been eaten—but the rider had not, she saw, glancing at the corpse not distant from the animal. No—not at all. The man had been torn open, slashed from groin to throat, but none of his flesh had been feasted upon, so it seemed. 

Her eyes narrowed as she pondered this revelation. What, did the beast have a preference for horse over human? It seemed unlikely. Unlikely indeed. Yet what cause was there for such delineation? Perhaps it had simply consumed its fill and left the remains behind, sated. 

But what did that matter? 

It did not. Regardless, the beast was slaughtering the northern people like cattle. Far too many had fallen prey to its uncontrolled madness. 

Her stallion nickered, stamped. She swayed in her saddle, clutching hurriedly at the reins as the creature beneath her snorted and shifted. The stallion’s ears had begun to flick, its eyes shifted from side to side. Her mount trembled beneath her. And not hers alone. 

She glanced back, watching as the soldiers’ mounts all began to exhibit the same nervous behavior. Unrest trickled from man to man, unease seeped through the very air. Some sought to soothe their fearful mounts, others readied their lances, alert and wakeful.

Her own hand darted to the handle of her axe, her fingers curling about the wooden grip. Her gaze darted back and forth, scouring the scape, but there was naught to be seen. She heard nothing. No growl, nor howl, nor treading steps. 

Her heart began to tremble, quivering as her pulse began to race. She swallowed and swallowed, but still her throat seemed dry—too dry. No air seemed enough to satisfy her laboring lungs. The stallion drew back, giving a cry of alarm. But where—where was it? What had given such cause for distress? 

Slowly, she turned her head, her breath frozen in her throat. Her eyes wandered up the bluff, a steep cut of earth that rose in a solid wall. Her body seemed to waver, her arms felt limp, her tongue like a piece of charred wood. 

No sound but a faint whimper could leave her lips, clamped so tightly together were they. 

There was a face peering down. A face. Warped and twisted and grotesque beyond the horrors she had witnessed. 

Her lungs wavered and stuttered, seeking the breath that she refused to give it. If she dared but sigh—she feared that the trance would be broken. Her eyes did not stray—her gaze remained locked upon that hideous visage. She could see no eyes behind the jagged strands of dulled hair, marred with dirt and colored like withering wheat. A shadow fell upon its face and gave the illusion of pure darkness, for but a moment. 

Someone made a sound—like that of a mangled cry.

The enchantment shattered. 

It was no more than a blink of her eyes. 

The creature leapt forward and landed among them, and her own stallion shrieked in alarm, rearing. Chaos erupted and the silence was thrown to ruin. The screams and shouts of fearful men and the baying of frightened horses echoed through the space.

Edelgard fought to stay mounted, reaching for her axe—straining to grasp it as the stallion bucked and bucked, barely heeding the carnage that took place a mere few meters from her. 

The breath left her lungs as at last the stallion prevailed and her back met with the frozen ground. Snow puffed around her neck, trickling down her tunic. She gave herself no time to orient her body, scrambling to her feet as quickly as she could, grappling with the powder as she pushed herself up.

But what could she do but watch as the ranks of soldiers she had brought struggled against that—that thing. They looked like children poking sticks at a bear. And from the back, it almost looked a bear—covered in mottled fur and hair. 

It tore through a man, claws flashing—and one swipe ripped through the slim plate of armor. Scarlet poured through the gaping hole and the man stumbled back, clawing desperately at his chest. She watched him trip, fall, and never rise again. 

The beast was agile, she realized, watching it dash to and fro, evading assaults from all directions. Lances that dared to distract were batted aside, broken from the shaft. 

She watched the creature lunge towards the nearest man, a snarl breaking through the din of battle—and sink its fangs into his throat. The man was lifted, like an animal would heft its young, flailing his arms. With a snap of its jaw, the body fell free, headless. The pristine purity was marred with crimson spatters, painted with scarlet. 

Someone managed to prod a spear into the beast’s back—and it howled, the very same sound that they had heard upon their arrival. The sound that haunted her slumber. It whirled around and leapt for the attacker, barreling into him. The man was crushed under its weight, screaming all the while—screaming whilst the beast tore into his head and ripped the flesh off his face. 

And what could she do?

She remained rooted in place, petrified. Her heart hammered like a torrential rain, her legs quivering, refusing to move. Her stallion had fled—and her axe was still secured to the saddle. She was weaponless, terrified. There was naught to do but watch the last of her men meet their ends.

The last soldier attempted to flee, shrieking in terror, but the beast bounded after him—leaping on all fours. One mangled arm extended and the paw-like hand curled around the fleeing man’s arm, and pulled. It was wrenched from its socket. But that was not enough, evidently. The beast caught the man and lifted him as though he weighed no more than a sack of flour, and pulled. 

The screaming resumed, loud and full of unrestrained agony. 

The beast roared in tandem, perhaps a cry of pride, as at last the arm pulled free, tearing away from the flesh with a curtain of scarlet. Blood rained upon the silvery snow and marred the white with splatters of blooming red. 

The woman lost her mind then—she saw naught but that vile creature. Anger clouded her eyes and she released a roar of her own, streaking forth in a surge of foolhardy courage. She gripped a broken spear and ran towards the beast, poised to pierce its foul hide.

There was naught else to do. If she fled then it would give chase. If her life was to dwindle in this place, she would not go silently nor in cowardice. 

The shaft was slick and wet from melting snow, slipping from her grip. Frost gnawed at her cheeks, her neck, frigid water trickling down her back. Her heart felt as though it was ready to burst free of its confines. 

But the beast dropped the whimpering man and turned, almost lethargically, watching as she charged. Its mangled lips drew back in a snarl, revealing a row of red-coated fangs, a smile to greet her. Gore covered its maw, thick and riddled with bits of flesh. And the beast poised to leap, slinking back on its haunches, lowering its head. 

The woman did not cease her charge, did not allow the screaming in her head to draw hesitation. 

Why did one moment seem so long? An eternity it seemed had gone in that second, the one second that it took for the creature to swipe its elongated arm—knocking the breath from her chest. An eternity in the instant it took for her body to careen through the air. 

Time meant nothing. What was time?

Her vision darkened and the world vanished for a moment. 

She heard nothing but her own gasping breaths, pained and labored—a quiet whine. Her own. It was her voice that echoed in her skull, a pathetic cry as agony blossomed across her back, surged through her spine. 

She could not move. She could not move. She could not move.

Her fingers twitched, faintly, the barest whisper of motion. Warmth slipped down her frozen cheeks, and salt spread across her tongue. 

Her back felt aflame, throbbing and streaking with an astonishing anguish. 

And slowly did her eyes flicker open, startled and blurred. She saw naught but white, spatters of red—and one dark smear. A great, hulking shadow, stalking nearer. A sound, low and hoarse, rumbled through the descended silence. Her body quaked, shuddering and shivering as a true, unbidden terror began to course through her. 

What a pathetic jape this had all been. Her confidence had been misplaced. Entirely. 

She could not but wish to laugh, even as the dark shape crept closer, the low snarls growing louder. How could she have believed for a moment in the chance of the victory? Her bowels loosened and an unfamiliar warmth pooled in her already dampened trousers. So this…this was fear. True fear. No facsimile, but utter horror, pure and raw.

Slowly did the blur clear from her vision, and at last she beheld the creature that had with one blow felled her. 

On all fours did it slink, both feline and vaguely bear-like. And slowly, the creature rose, from four to two legs. Her eyes followed its movement and her throat felt as though coated in ash. It stood near three meters high, a revolting blend of human and animal. The way it walked—she choked on a panted breath. It seemed almost like a man. 

Her fingers dug into the snow, grappled at dirt, roots, seeking something—anything that might serve to defend her. Desperation throbbed in her skull and her lungs fluttered over and over, her heart threatening to pound through her chest. 

The fear distracted from the pulsing agony. 

She clenched her teeth, grit them together to stifle the wails that scraped past her throat. And still the beast did not lunge. No, it came and stood over her, towering like some unearthly monstrosity, peering down. 

She tried to push away—but the trunk of the tree impeded her path. She was caught between it and the creature. Trapped. Imprisoned. Her tears leaked from her eyes in thick droplets, and no longer did she try to stifle the cries swelling against her teeth. The woman began to weep in earnest, gazing up in unrefined terror at the beast that saw fit to taunt her.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the beast bent down, returning to all fours, and lowered its head.

And only then did she see its eyes. 

As though someone had lodged a knife between her ribs, a gasp filtered through her lips and tumbled into the frosted air. 

Between the ragged, filthy strands that dangled over its hideous countenance, were two perfectly azure eyes. Blue. Clear and blue. Like the heart of a living ember. 

Its breath, hot and foul, puffed against her chilled cheeks, but she did not stir, did not dare move. 

Something rumbled from its chest—a low groan, vile and harsh. And again. A sound rippled from its bloodied maw, drifted from between the reddened fangs. And almost—it almost sounded as though the beast were trying to speak. 

Those azure orbs were wide and—frightened. Frightened. Sorrowful. There was such utter grief in those gleaming eyes. 

The woman swallowed, coughing as something warm and metallic coated her tongue. 

A face drifted through her skull, blue eyes, warm eyes. Kind. Gentle. And for a moment, she did not see the face of a beast peering into her own. 

A name stuttered from her chapped lips, a trickle of blood seeping over them as they parted. Why did she utter it—that name? Why had she spoken that accursed name? To beg his forgiveness that she could not see her oath through? 

Blood crept up her throat and she coughed again, her strength departing her with every passing moment. The trembling grew faint and again her vision began to fade. Though she grasped at consciousness with every ounce of strength that she possessed, reality began to slip away, like water trickling between open fingers.

And still she heard that low groan. 

And for a moment, it almost sounded as though the beast had spoken. How curious, she thought, as her eyes fluttered closed, that it had almost seemed as though it had spoken her name. 

El.

There had been only one that had called her that. And he had died many years past. Perhaps she would soon meet him. Perhaps he was calling to her now, drawing her to his side. 

A faint smile twitched upon her lips. It felt as though someone was embracing her. 

And indeed, it was so.

The woman departed from the conscious world and descended into a weary, battered sleep. But she was not alone. The beast that she had set out to destroy remained by her side, his blue eyes watchful and keen. A memory had been kindled in what remained of his human mind. A memory of a strong-willed, lilac-eyed girl. 

Though the madness of his infliction tore at him and demanded that he taste her flesh, he held the beast at bay and carefully, with the utmost tenderness, coiled the broken woman into his mangled arms. 

His muscles strained and his heart leapt and trembled—the need, the desire to feast, to drink deep of warm blood and sweet flesh. But he did not allow it to overtake his mind. He fought against it with all his will as he loped through the wood that had for so many years become his home, the woman’s lifeless form draped across his arms. 

Near to howling with agony was this cruel monster as he gently laid the woman at the gates of the city—and for fear of succumbing to his wretched ailment, the beast spared no more time to bask in the sweetness of his memories. He would not kill her. He would not touch her. 

A howl echoed through the wood that night, loud and mournful and unrestrained in grief and anguish. All who heard it trembled and prayed that the creature would not feast upon them and bolted their doors.   
But she did not hear it. 

She heard only a name. Her own. She saw only a pair of beautiful azure eyes. And she smiled in her sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard is strong, no doubt about that--but have you seen Dimitri's strength stat/growths? And his strength is only amplified by his beast form, so of course he'd fucking tear through them. He's like 8/9ft tall also, but using the US's stupid measurement system doesn't sound good so i went metric. 
> 
> alsoooo I swear this is Dimigard--i promissssseeeee its going to be--
> 
> Finals are coming and I'm ready to die. At the very least all of them are on the first two days of next week so that's an early break for me, so I have time to get Dimitri's birthday fic written! 
> 
> How does one even write fight scenes? Or gore? ??? How does one write anything?


	5. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realizations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, guess who is indeed still alive. 
> 
> I never really intended on taking like a two-month hiatus, but it kind of just happened; I've been working a ton on my own original works in the meantime, but then i remembered that I was also supposed to be writing DimiEde, ooooop
> 
> But yeah, I think this fic is actually one of my favorites that I've written and admittedly I'm pretty proud of it. I actually want to finish this story because I'm genuinely enjoying writing it! This hasn't seemed to be as popular as my other works, but it's ok; I hope that those who are reading enjoy it as much as I do!
> 
> This chapter contains content that may distress some readers.

The world was drifting.

Or perhaps she was drifting. Lost, somewhere between waking and the world after. 

She heard her own breath, deep, loud in the silence. She was alone in this new space, simply drifting. There seemed no feeling to her form, a frightening weightlessness, a lack of sensation entirely. Though she tried to extend her hand, to reach for—anything, her fingers grasped at nothingness and there was naught to take it. 

This world was lonely. Far too lonely. She wanted to leave, wanted to shout and cry, wanted to hear someone’s voice, anything other than the quiet sound of her own gentle breathing. Wanted to see something other than the blinding nothingness. 

Was this then the end? Had she ceased to be? If so, what had ended her existence? Why could she not recall? 

Flickers of scarlet, swathes of white, the gleam of a brilliant azure. The smell of iron, the bitter bite of frost. Glimpses of a recollection. 

Pain. There was pain. Agony. Whose—hers? Were those anguished shrieks her own? 

Something was coming. Something was drawing nearer—a form draped in shadow. Towards her, slowly, lumbering, staggering closer. Yet it was all still a blur, a smear of darkness. 

Her hand floated, adrift, stretching towards that figure of darkness. It reached back—a wavering form of shadow. Almost, almost did it reach her. For a moment, it looked as though it was a hand, shrouded in a black haze. 

It turned to dust, to sand and slipped between her fingers.

The world around her turned to darkness. She stood, alone, in water, but not sinking. Her feet were bare, a long white gown adorned her figure, soaking in the fluid that lapped against her skin. The woman saw herself reflected in the never-ending pool, her face ashen pale, her hair like a curtain of snow, unbound.

Something wavered in the distance, like a figure—a blurred figure. The shadow took the form of a man, and within the smeared image, there shone a bulb of crimson. 

Though she had not moved, not taken a single step, suddenly she was before the form, before the gleaming stone. It pulsed as though alive, angry and fiery. It pulsed—like a heart. 

Without having been prompted, hardly knowing why she felt so compelled to do so, she lifted her hand, and carefully, ever so carefully curled her fingers about that crimson stone. It was warm and fluttered in her palm.

It was no stone.

Flesh. It was flesh in her hands—a beating heart. 

It was not water but blood that stained her gown, blood that sprawled in an endless ocean. Blood that began to stream from the heart in her hands, that trickled over her fingers and slicked them.

A cry swelled in her throat, but as she raised her head, the shadow was gone. Eyes. Blue eyes. Azure eyes so full of grief peered at her.

And then her own opened.

Edelgard was slow to realize that she had wakened. Her head still swam, was still full of the strange visions that had greeted her. Her hands felt sticky, clammy, her body felt limp and ached to a hellish degree. Yet, slowly, her consciousness returned. 

She began to realize that she was stretched atop a plush surface, that her body was swaddled in layers of furs and blankets, that it was sweat and not blood that coated her form. She was lying in a chamber, not drifting endlessly in some accursed afterlife—or in between, whatever she had thought at first.

A low groan split her lips—parched and dry, and her tongue darted out to wet them. In some semblance of coherent recollection, she managed to recall something of her last waking moment. She had been riding through the wood—she and her men had been befallen upon by some…nightmarish creature. 

Alas, her memory was still lost in a fog. It felt as though the rest of her was as well. Apart from the throbbing discomfort, she could not much feel anything. 

The young woman could not but grimace as she tried to push herself up, her limbs protesting the motion at once. What had befallen her that she was now so utterly battered and feeble? She turned her head as best she could, somewhat astonished by the effort it took to perform so simple an action. Her neck felt like it had been dipped into a vat of ice and frozen along with it, stiff like the trunk of a tree.

She gazed, disoriented and bemused, at her own arm, struggling to force the rebellious limb to move. 

“My, my, Edie…” A quiet chuckle fluttered through the silence of her chamber, muffled and distant. It felt for a moment as though she were still lost in a dream, yet she knew the voice and to whom it belonged. A gentle hand brushed aside stray strands and a cool palm found rest on her forehead. “Just lay down, don’t strain yourself too much.”

A faint whisper of a name floated from her tongue and the young woman coughed, wincing once more at the spasm of pain that surged through her chest. Again, that matronly touch caressed her head, soothing and careful. Her eyes flicked sideward and indeed it was her stalwart companion that was stood by the side of the bed. Familiar hazel curls tumbled down lithe shoulders and warm verdant eyes met with her own.

“What…happened?” Was that her own voice? It seemed almost unrecognizable, so hoarse and raspy. Every word scraped past her dry throat like a bitter knife, thick on her limp tongue, difficult to force through her lips. 

The woman raised her brows, her countenance twisting into one of forlorn severity, and she shrugged. “We—we don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me.” The songstress forced some levity into her otherwise concerned tone, evidently quite worried but unwilling to betray it. “Do you not remember?”

Edelgard managed to shake her head, her eyes fluttering closed as a dull throbbing began to thud against the back of her head. No, she could not remember. Her memory seemed distant and unreachable, only faint smatterings of recollections bounced about her skull, fragments of an enigmatic puzzle. Perhaps the ache in her head was responsible for having scattered the coherence of her mind. 

“Edie,” Her friend’s voice grew softer, the light in her spring-green eyes fading some and a slight tremor trickled through her palm. “You—you came back alone. They found you collapsed outside the city walls.” Dorothea murmured, disconcerted and fearful as she confessed it, and in doing so, Edelgard’s own terror was realized. 

She had returned alone—her men, her soldiers—had she not left with a party of thirty well-trained imperial knights? That—yes, she had. She had gone out to hunt the so-called beast and had brought her best, and if none had come back, it meant only one thing. They had all perished. And in turn, that could only imply that they had come upon the creature.

Her eyes grew wide and in a sudden surge of strength, she jolted upright, startling her friend as she did so. Her body was stiff and tense as panted, bent over, her fingers curling tightly into the bed-sheets. Her hair hung in silvery strands about her face, disheveled and uncombed. “Dorothea,” The woman’s voice wavered as she forced it through her throat. “Help me up.” 

The songstress dared not protest, merely pressed her lips together and slid off the bed, aiding her as best she could. Edelgard was astonished by her own lack of strength, her legs quavering beneath her weight as she forced herself to stand. Her lungs struggled with every breath, as though someone had laden her chest with bricks instead of flesh. 

She leaned heavily against her friend as she forced her legs to carry her, step by step, to the mirror. The pounding of her heart seemed to reverberate in her ears, painfully loud, strong. A foreign terror began to ice the blood in her veins and every breath became a needle, sharp and brisk. 

She saw her own face reflected back at her—surely it was hers. Ashen pale and scraped, the figure in the mirror looked more a ghostly, lingering spectre than a confident and assured young emperor. The wisps of white hair that limply hung from her head seemed a halo of mist and only emphasized the darkness that had taken root beneath her eyes. 

Edelgard looked haggard and broken, even to herself. She could not recognize the distraught visage in the reflection. Her eyes trailed down the frail figure, her gaze faltering once she caught a glimpse of something dark beneath the thin white of her nightgown. Holding her breath, she raised a shaking hand and pulled at the shoulder of her gown, the slim fabric sliding down her skin. 

Her lips quivered and her throat bobbed faintly as she swallowed, her chest fluttering with a strained breath. The woman pushed the loose gown from her body and the cloth drifted to the floor, pooling around her bare feet. Her naked form greet her own gaze and drew a sharp gasp from her chest. 

Slowly, she turned and peered over her shoulder, her heart seeming to throb painfully against her ribs at the sight revealed to her. The span of her back was a revolting mosaic of black and blue; the milky flesh seemed rotten beneath the array of bruises that traveled from the back of her neck and sprawled like a foul portrait against a canvas every which way. 

All at once, as though someone had struck her in the gut, her breath left her body and the fragments of memories rearranged themselves in her skull. The corpses, the blood that had stained the snow, the screams, the anguish—the beast. She had seen the beast; she had met the beast. 

Her eyes grew wide and the woman staggered, crumbling to her knees. Her friend gasped, but she barely heeded the sound, the gentle hands that struggled to pull her back up to her feet. The woman stared at the floor, her mind swimming as the same terror began to gnaw at her heart, the same unspeakable horror that had rendered her lifeless and unable to move, nor shout before.

She saw it again, that foul, wretched creature, she remembered it. Something churned in her belly, coiling and heaving and the young woman clamped her teeth together, holding back a growing wail, her arms rising to curl about her own form. 

Yet—she was alive. She was still living—that wicked beast could have torn her apart and painted the wood with her entrails. Still, she lived.

How…how did she return? 

The woman froze, vaguely conscious of a warm robe being wrapped around her shoulders, but her thoughts remained fixated upon that one query. How had she returned? She could barely remember a thing past her encounter with that warped animal—the last smeared piece of her recollection was that of its eyes. She had not been in any state to walk, much less ride to the city gates. There was no possible way for her to have found her way back to the city on her own.

It was simply unfathomable. 

She forced a quivering breath and lifted her hand, pressing her palm to her face as she pushed aside her fear and mustered forth her rational thought. She was Edelgard, the heiress to the Hresvelg empire, the Emperor herself; she did not easily fall into such states of panic. 

With these reminders, the woman managed to regain some semblance of composure and slowly lowered her hand. 

One mystery after another—and she stood in the middle of them all. 

The young woman raised her head and peered into the mirror once more, examining her own face, mustering an expression of calm. There was an answer to all of these cryptic mysteries; there was. Her gaze slowly drifted sideward, towards the wall veiled by the curtains, just as she had insisted. Why did it seem as though everything revolved around one man—the death of one prince so many years ago? Why were these enigmas bursting forth now, crawling from beyond the grave to haunt her?

“Are you okay?” 

The songstress asked softly, and the woman finally permitted herself to look up, meeting her friend’s worried gaze. Edelgard sighed and closed her eyes briefly, not knowing whether or not she really was. “I…am fine.” She lied, achingly pushing herself to her knees again—though her companion hurried forward to aid her at once. What good would it do to say that no, she was not at all alright? 

How could she possibly explain everything that had happened to the woman—it hardly made reasonable sense to her. She could not confess to her strange dreams, nor say that the so-called devilish beast had not killed her, nor say that the beast’s eyes still looked like—

She bit her tongue and allowed Dorothea to lead her back to the bed, finding that she felt weary, exhausted beyond belief. Barely a few steps and it felt as though her body was sinking into an abyss. 

Edelgard remained quiet a moment as the songstress moved to retrieve her fallen gown, but jolted suddenly as she came upon a realization. “Dorothea.” She called out, still unaccustomed to the grating sound of her own voice. Her throat certainly felt raw, parched. “I…do not want to sleep here.” She declared, unfazed by the woman’s surprise, obediently raising her arms—much like she had as a child—when the woman made to slip the gown over her head.

“What do you mean, Edie?” The hazel-haired woman did look rather perplexed by the sudden change of mind, frowning as she returned her authoritative stare. “Do you want to stay in my room? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind—,”

Yet she was already shaking her head. The emperor gripped the blanket, quite certain of her decision. “The prince’s room.” She clarified, watching as the woman’s eyes grew wide, as uncertainty flashed through her verdant gaze. “Take me there.”

Dorothea was evidently discomfited, seeming rather apprehensive at the thought. It would undoubtedly not be taken well if she were to intrude upon the late sovereign’s untouched quarters, but she felt that must. There was a niggling feeling that simply refused to wane. It would be unwise to refuse to heed such a strong intuitive instinct, thus she fixed her gaze readily upon her friend, unwilling to bow down, nor concede. 

The songstress flashed her a strained smile, and it was quite apparent that the woman wished the sudden grimness in the air to subside. “Oh come on, Edie, it’s dusty in there. And probably cold too.” There was a tightness to her lips; she was struggling to retain her smile. “What if there’s a ghost in there!” Dorothea clapped her hands over her lips, widening her eyes to a comical degree.

If there was some apparition awaiting her there, then Edelgard wished to speak with it. The woman met her friend’s gaze, realizing that it would be wiser to go unannounced. Dorothea could not stop her if she did not know. Quietly, the woman nodded, making it appear as though she had conceded, sighing as she slipped back under the covers, stifling a wince with every movement. “Yes…then, goodnight.” She murmured, only partially feigning a display of weariness. The yawn that split her lips was not part of a façade, nor was the lingering exhaustion in her limbs.

The woman closed her eyes and released a breath, waiting until she heard the songstress’ departure. It took a few moments; the woman continued to shuffle about the room, tending to various things as though she were a maidservant employed here. The footsteps grew distant, then approached again, and a gentle touch to her shoulder startled her some. 

“Sorry,” The woman smiled apologetically and withdrew her hand. “I just wanted to make sure you knew—our gracious host left some elixirs for you. Drink them when you can.” She whispered, though the sardonic emphasis on her description of their host did not escape her tone. But with that, Dorothea offered her one last smile and slipped away, and this time, Edelgard heard the door click open, then shut—and silence spanned the chamber.

She permitted herself to lay still a few minutes longer, wishing to be absolutely certain that no one would disturb her. There was no sound at all to reach her straining ears. 

That would do. 

Edelgard groaned quietly as she once again pushed her aching muscles to toil, mustering whatever strength she possessed to stumble out of the bed. Briefly, she pondered whether she would even be capable of traversing through the halls to find that chamber again. Perhaps her waning strength would give way before she could even leave her own quarters. 

But such doubts were insignificant and offered no benefit. The woman grit her teeth and with trembling arms, wrapped her robe around herself. She did not deign to pause and cover her feet with shoes or slippers, her mind was resolved and so she steeled herself and began to lumber towards the door. 

In her obstinacy, she refused to heed her body’s own protests and staggered forth. She had not felt so frail in her life as she did now. Edelgard had always preferred to think of herself as indomitable, impervious, and unswayed by mortal fear. Oh how quickly such perceptions had been rendered as arrogant and thoughtless. 

She had sorely underestimated her foe and her own humanity. She had thought she lacked fear only because to this day, she had not faced such a monstrous opponent. Now that she had, well, she supposed the barking dogs in the imperial court may as well be pups. 

The woman was panting, sweating from exertion only midway through her journey, grappling on to the cold stone walls around her as she forced her quivering legs to move. She gripped at her chest and forced her lungs to heave, gritting her teeth. The corridor was frigid and her bare feet seemed steeped in ice, but she made no sound as she stepped onward. 

The halls were void of life, void of all but the faintly flickering braziers and the dancing shadows that writhed along the floors. She pulled her robe closer to her body and released a long breath, wondering what she would find in that accursed room. Would there truly be some vengeful spirit gleefully anticipating her arrival? She hardly knew what to expect—well, she supposed of all things, she should foremost expect an empty room.

What nonsense had filled her head these past weeks that she had even briefly pondered such an idea? 

The young woman shook her head free of her clouded ruminations and pressed on, leaning heavily against the wall as she lumbered towards her destination. Why did it seem so far now? Or was it always so distant, but only exacerbated due to her lack of strength? Regardless, it mattered little. Such thoughts were only distractions. 

Step by step, she drew closer. 

Laughter seemed to echo through the halls, dull, muted, muffled—the laughter of children. She closed her eyes and refused to dwell on it. Her mind was addled—she had hit her head. She heard nothing, and if there was something to be heard, then it was the moaning wind. It was too late to turn back; if she did, she knew she would collapse somewhere along the way. She was closer now to her destination than her own quarters.

A hand seemed to be pulling her along, leading her ever on through those darkened corridors, and with its gentle guidance, the woman found herself at last face to face with a door. A door that she had seen once prior—once? Her brows knitted together and a frown pulled at her lips. Had…she had seen it before. Surely, she had.

Edelgard made no sound as she pushed against the solid wood, wincing as it swung inward, groaning as though in anguish. The room was indeed chilled, set upon by a ghostly frost, and dark. It was not as she remembered in the daylight. The windows were veiled by curtains—all but one. Had it always been so? She could not recall.

A cold blue light gleamed through the pane, a mere sliver breaking through the crevice of cloth. Cautiously, the woman pushed the door back into place, and rested her back against it, catching her breath. Dust—dust drifted through the air, thick and stagnant. A quiet cough broke from her lips and she pressed her hand to her mouth, her gaze flitting to and fro, examining the unfamiliar environment. Unfamiliar indeed—it was not at all as she remembered.

It felt like a prison chamber now, veiled in the darkness, illuminated by a single, bleak strand of moonlight. The warmth of nostalgia had faded—it seemed like a coffin, cold and dead and dry. Edelgard swallowed thickly and padded forward, shivering in the frigid cold of night. She wondered how long she had been unconscious for; Dorothea had not told her, but she recalled that it had still been bright when…

The woman curled her arm around her waist and plodded towards the window, gingerly extending a hand to pull aside the curtain further. Longer than a day, surely, she had laid abed, unmoving and lifeless, else she surely would have been unable to rise at all. After the injuries bestowed upon her, it was miraculous in itself that she had survived. 

Her countenance remained inexpressive as she thought, straining to recall as much as she could. One swipe of its twisted arm had enough force to send her barreling away, like a cat batting at a mouse. Her lips pulled into a frown as she gingerly kneaded her side, resisting the urge to wince every time she pushed at her bruised flesh. 

“Well,” She spoke aloud at last, turning around and raising her eyes. “I am here.” Her voice seemed to fall flat, unable to echo in the silent chamber. “What did you want to tell me, you accursed man?” Anger rasped through her voice and drew her brows together. Her gaze fell upon the easel, the cloth askew—just as she had left it afore. Without a word, she stiffly stepped towards it and pulled the fabric away, tossing it aside.

The rays of light were just enough to illuminate those blue eyes of his, and even through the canvas of the unfinished portrait, they seemed to gleam, burning with life. A trick of the light, surely. Edelgard trudged towards the painting and knelt before it, face to face with the unmoving image.

He seemed to stare at her—his gaze doleful, weary. Was she herself so exhausted that it seemed that his expression had changed since last she had seen it? Her eyes narrowed and she leaned closer, raising a finger to trace over the painted lines of his face. She grazed his jaw, frowning, irritated by her own inane expectation—that she had believed that the image might suddenly blink, smile, or speak. 

“You…” She murmured, skimming her finger up his face, and carefully, she thumbed at the painted eye, peering into its shallow depth. “What is it? What happened to you, Dimitri?” Her voice faltered as she spoke his name, as though it was a blasphemy to utter. 

The woman remained in place, gazing into unseeing eyes, having forgotten her discomfort—the chill, the throbbing pain, everything. She knew, everything had to do with him—he was the answer to these ceaseless mysteries…but how? 

Edelgard scoffed at herself, a bitter smile curving her lips. A painting would have no answers for her, neither a lingering ghost. The woman achingly pushed herself up, heaving a breath and rubbing at her arms, and tentatively, she glanced at the bed. Her limbs ached, the cold only bringing forth further discomfort, and so she made up her mind, quietly making her way towards the undisturbed structure. 

The woman held her breath and pulled back the covers, picking up the pillow and beating away what dust still dared to coat it, and turned it over. Fortunately, the bed was clean—in comparison to the rest of the room. She still did not know what had possessed her to do this, but here she was, curling up in a dead man’s bed. She could only imagine what Hubert might say if he saw her thus, whether his grim face might twist into disgust, or if he would chide her for demeaning herself. 

She could not but chuckle as she thought of his dry voice, what words he would have for her. Well, he would not know—she would not be telling him.   
She breathed in, a strange scent filling her nose—the smell of age, of dust. It was much as she had expected. 

The young woman sighed and closed her eyes, her consciousness slipping away.

And yet she heard steps thudding about the room. Slow, leisurely, as though whomever was in the room was ambling about, comfortable. How long had she slept? Had she even slept? She could not recall.

The woman groaned and turned on her side, nuzzling further into the comfort of her bed. Warmth cradled her and she was loath to depart from it. Though her waking was imminent, she clung to the tatters of slumber, unwilling to part just yet. 

A quiet chuckle drifted into her ears and a tender caress brushed the disorderly strands from her face. “Are you going to wake?” Someone asked, their voice low and soft, soothing. She felt the bed dip beside her, felt the fingers card into her hair, gently pulling at the snags. “El?”

“No.” She grumbled, burying her face into the pillow and heaving a weary breath. They laughed again, a light sound—free and unfettered and the teasing touches continued, skimming down her neck, pushing away the silvery locks of her hair. The woman made a sound of displeasure and batted the wandering hand away, disgruntled. 

“How long will you keep me waiting?” The voice spoke beside her ear, sensual, sultry; hot breath puffed against her skin and she shivered, finally prying open her eyes. The woman blinked, her eyes narrowing as golden sunlight filtered into the room, so bright as to be blinding. Who had opened the curtains so early? Birds lilted their morning songs outside the window, beckoning forth a fair day

“El, are you ignoring me?” The voice spoke again, tinged with a wry humor, and something pressed against her neck.

“Of course.” She answered, finally deigning to turn her head, her lips curving into a wry smile. A pair of azure eyes met her gaze, golden strands dangling leisurely across a blue orb. She reached up and brushed the locks away, frowning. “Now you tell me why you woke so early?” 

The man smiled at her, so vividly and beautifully it made her heart stutter within her chest. She allowed her gaze to wander, taking in the physique she was so well acquainted with, admiring the way his loose blouse draped his figure, pulled apart at the neck. “What are you looking at?” His smirk betrayed the fact that he knew exactly where her gaze was situated, the cheeky fool.

Edelgard huffed and finally turned to lay on her back, staring up at him unperturbed. “You.” She declared simply, finding no reason to deny it. After all this was…normal. Yes, normal—common. 

She swallowed his laugh as he bent down and pressed their lips together. 

She swallowed his groans too, as he rocked within her, their bodies pressed flush together. He fed her quiet gasps and she devoured them eagerly, cradling him in her arms, basking in their kindled warmth. He shuddered and moaned atop her, breathing her name again and again, and she gazed at him, into those blue, blue eyes. They were alight with a burning flame, flickering.

“El,” He breathed, his gaze filled with an unspoken adoration, gleaming with light and life. She bit her tongue, closing her eyes, a sigh escaping from between her teeth as his hips rolled against her own. “El.” He said again, his voice wrought with desperation, and his movements grew fierce. 

Her hands skimmed the plane of his back, his muscle rippling beneath his skin with every thrust. Why did it seem so…gaunt? Her brows furrowed even as he heaved against her, her fingers digging into his skin, a strange sensation beneath her palm. Thin, stretched, leathery—that was—

“El,” Another groan, lower, hoarser. “El.” A growl. His hands curled around her wrists, holding her in place. Why was his grip so tight? Pain began to lace her arms, the pleasure ebbing with every feral motion. She grimaced, her eyes squeezing closed, and the woman began to squirm. Cold—it was cold beneath her—frost prickled at her skin. 

The mattress beneath her had vanished; roots and rocks took its place bruising her back, and cold—snow, there was snow. She gasped, arcing up, a groan splitting her lips. 

He was panting heavily, his breaths shuddering over and over, loud, his breath hot against her skin. His grip was tight, unbearably so. “Wait—,” She breathed, a whimper drawn from her throat and she grappled at his skin, clawing at his hide. The bones in her wrists groaned, cracking, and she cried out. 

“El—,” 

She froze, fear trembling through her chest, pain bolting through her body. That voice was not human. 

“El—,” Warped, a snarl, an inhuman snarl. “El!” 

The bones in her wrists snapped beneath his tremendous strength and she screamed, her eyes snapping open, tears rimming her lids—and the smiling face that greeted her own—

“El!” Again the monster howled, rutting against her like a mutt in heat—the man was gone. She screamed and screamed, and the hideous maw grinned, rows of fangs like daggers lining its gaping mouth. “EL!” It wailed in harmony with her anguished cries of terror.

The woman could not move, could do naught but scream her throat raw, her body ablaze with agony, unable to withstand the creature’s ferocity. Blood streamed from around its black, twisted claws, painting the snow beneath them. 

“EL!” There was panic, frustration, such desperation in that horrible voice. “SAVE ME!”

Her voice failed her; she choked on a breath, frozen in fear, in pain. She stared upward, stared into that foul, wretched visage. Between the limp dirty strands of once-golden hair gleamed two eyes. Two human eyes. Blue like the ocean waters. 

“SAVE ME, EL!” The creature bellowed, and then she heard it, the voice of a frightened, damaged man lost deep, deep within. 

“Dimitri—,” She cried, her voice breaking on the wail of agony that threatened to suffocate her. The name was death. The name was a curse. The name was a salvation—his salvation. 

Something gleamed in his chest, burning like a bright, wrathful fire. It pulsed and throbbed, tangled in matted, mangled fur, embedded between in webs of flesh and muscle. A crimson stone. A heart—his heart? 

But she could not reach it, she could not move. She could only listen to his pleas, listen to him beg, her body broken and battered, limp as the creature began to tear it apart. She felt his claws dig into her skin, pierce through and scrape her, heard the spatter of her blood against the frozen ground. She felt his teeth sink into her shoulder, tear at the sinews and rip away the meat. She heard the crunch of her bones as he began to devour her. 

Tears dribbled down her frigid cheeks, dripped onto the spotless snow. Numb. She was numb. She felt every thread of her skin tear, felt every snap of every bone as the creature feasted on her flesh. She felt every lap of his tongue against her belly as he drank the flowing blood. Yet she felt no pain. 

No pain. Sorrow. Grief. Grief tugged the tears from her eyes and grief forced the spasms of her sobs. She wept. Even as she lowered her gaze and saw her chest open and splayed, her ribs broken like a blossoming flower, she wept—for him. And one word alone could slip from her frozen tongue.

“Dimitri.”

She was crying. That was evident at once.

Edelgard sniffled and raised a limp hand to her face, stiff, uneasy, uncertain—confused. A wet warmth tracked down her face and trickled down her neck, uncomfortably sticky. She rubbed at her eyes, heaving a tremulous sigh, clearing her throat quietly. The woman gingerly tried to stretch, but winced immediately at the sudden pain that splayed through her back, threading through her limbs. 

She turned her head and inspected her surroundings, a tad disoriented after her sudden awakening. She had dreamed—something. Certainly, she had, otherwise she would not have awoken with tears rimming her eyes. The more she tried to grasp at it, the further away it slipped. Mere muffled fragments were all that she could recall. 

Dust wafted into her nose and she sneezed, groaning as the abrupt spasm sent another bolt of pain through her body. She rubbed at her nose and squinted, realizing that she was not in her own quarters, no not at all. 

The young woman peered at the window she had left uncovered and saw that it was day—another rather bleak day, however. Heavy grey clouds spanned across the sky, obscuring whatever sunlight existed in this land and promising yet another day of winter’s delight. She sighed and nestled further into the bed, now completely conscious of the fact that it was not her bed. Regardless, it was warmer beneath the aged blankets than outside of them. 

Edelgard closed her eyes and searched her memory, struggling to recall the dreams she had had—two of them in particular. Though she could not recount the events of either with perfect clarity, she remembered two specific details, both of which had recurred. Namely, the colors. Crimson—and blue. Something fiery red had appeared in both dreams, and from what she could vaguely remember, it was something…living. 

As for the blue…

She opened her eyes and sat up slowly, forcing her body to obey, and her gaze fell upon the portrait she had left exposed. Eyes. Blue eyes. She had seen those eyes in both dreams, thus solidifying her conjecture that the man in the image was related to all of these strange, harrowing events. How he had even managed to invade her unconscious mind, however, she could not fathom. Or perhaps she had been so fixated upon him that her mind had simply added him to her dreams unwittingly. 

She gingerly kneaded at her stiff shoulders, her countenance growing solemn and thoughtful as she pondered the strange events that she had been living through. Somehow if felt as though she was forgetting something significant—and that was frustrating, intensely so. 

The young woman huffed and lamely began to push herself up. It would do her no good at all to be found here—not that anyone other than Dorothea would think to seek her in such a dreary place. By Sothis and her saints, her head surely hurt. Whether she had simply not noticed or the arrival of the furious throbbing in her skull was simply so sudden, the young woman swayed, taken aback by the abrupt onset. She raised a trembling hand and pressed it to her head, wincing.

How she tired of all of this—the endless riddles, the strange and untimely occurrences. Perhaps it had been a mistake to venture into the cold north and grow so tangled with all the accursed mysteries that plagued its lands. Perhaps she might simply leave it all behind—she had nearly lost her life for meddling in these burdensome affairs, and her…

Her eyes snapped open suddenly and a gasp split her lips. Aymr—by Sothis, the relic! Her axe had not been returned with her, it could not have been. Yes, she remembered still that she had not even been given the chance to wield the weapon, it had remained tied to her mount’s saddle, and the horse had bolted. 

She cursed aloud, gritting her teeth, both agonized and angry. What in the eternal blazes was she supposed to do? How could she possibly depart the north without the sacred relic of her house? And what, was she supposed to send another party of unfortunate souls into that accursed wood to be devoured? 

The young emperor gnawed at her nail, glowering fiercely at the carpet beneath her feet, and she cursed again. How had everything gone so poorly? Had her heroic attempt truly been so pathetic and pitiful? 

The throbbing in her head grew worse and worse and she groaned, chills beginning to travel through her body. And the beast—she clearly remembered the creature tearing through the bodies of her soldiers as though they had been made of leaves—and yet she had returned in one piece, battered but alive. How? How, how—how? 

There was only one answer that dared to encroach upon her mind, but she refused to heed it, would not deign to entertain the possibility—because it was pure folly! Still, the thought crept like bile, like poison up her throat and coated her tongue, pushing its way through her clamped teeth. She began to quake, a frigid cold breathing over, her head aching like it meant to split apart.

The only…the only explanation that made a lick of sense…

The only solution she so adamantly refused to consider. 

She dragged her squinted gaze upwards, sliding her eyes towards that painting. Her lips trembled as she peered at it, her heart seeming as though something had gripped it and squeezed. And those eyes, those vicious, cold blue eyes—that smirk, that arrogant, dancing smirk! He was mocking her! 

The young woman released another groan and clapped her hands to her face, forcing herself to breathe. She was deluding herself. A portrait. It was a mere portrait. Paint. 

Laughable—all of this, no, she was laughable. She hardly knew her own mind, could hardly trust her own eyes. 

And what if…

The woman’s eyes widened and she grew stiff, recalling a snippet of a conversation from—she knew not even how long ago. The regent, Cornelia Arnim, had herself confessed to being a woman educated in the arts of medicine, alchemy. And what if her acuity further included proficiency in enchantment? What if all these outlandish dreams, the nightmares that plagued her sleep, the uncertainty of her own mind were all such symptoms of a greater power. Rather, an outside influence. 

Edelgard held her breath, almost fearing that her thoughts would be discovered. If the woman had indeed had a hand in warping her psyche, would it be impossible for her to know the thoughts that dwelled in her head? She had not believed that the regent would dare to turn a hand against her. And yet, when she had declared her intention, that of pursuing the beast—the woman had not looked the slightest distressed. 

No, indeed not. Had she so blindly fallen victim to an elaborate scheme, even whilst having been suspicious of nefarious business? What if her having been called to the north was in itself a ploy? 

By the eternal flames! Who could she trust?

The young woman released her breath and stood up quickly, her heart pattering rapidly against her ribs. No, she could not lose hold of herself, nor her composure. She must not allow her suspicions to be known, not by that woman, not by anyone that served in the palace. She could not trust a single soul. 

As she hurried away from the stagnant, frigid chamber, barely able to keep her feet, a swelling discomfort descended over her, oppressive and stifling. It felt as though the very walls themselves were eyes, watching over her every movement. 

Her lungs burned, her limbs quivered, her head throbbed as she ran—as quickly as her legs could possibly carry her, back to the royal quarters, an urgency having taken hold of her senses. A foreign panic surged through her, strong and insistent. This place was full of snapping serpents. The north would not be her grave; she was not so naïve as the late prince had been. She would not die smiling at her enemy, nor would she permit herself to be strung by a lead. 

Caution—she needed to exercise caution, first and foremost. She had had her doubts to begin with, now they seemed like certainties. 

“Edie!”

She hardly heard the familiar voice, so lost in her own ruminations. Yet within moments, a face she recognized stared down into her own, a pair of grass-green eyes blinking. “What on earth are you doing!”

Edelgard returned the songstress’ stare, realizing with a jolt that the woman was her one true ally in this forsaken land. Dorothea—of course—the only person that she had to lean upon in the desolate, frozen north. She said nothing, allowing the woman to tut and fuss over her, accepting the aid as she was pulled to lean against her friend. 

“Where did you go? Your poor handmaidens were going to stir up such a fuss—and they would have if I hadn’t assured them that you were simply out for a walk.” The hazel-haired woman clicked her tongue, both irritated and quite concerned, now having to nearly drag the feeble emperor down the hall. “In such a state too! And you left the elixirs behind.” Edelgard froze upon hearing those words, and in doing so, caught her friend’s attention. “What is it?” Dorothea frowned faintly, her brows furrowing.

“Did the regent make them?” She asked, slowly raising her head to peer into her friend’s worried gaze. Upon the woman’s nod, her lips twisted into a scowl and she shook her head. “Pour them out. I will not ingest anything that woman concocts.” She growled, pulling away from her baffled companion’s arms and trudging down the hall, hearing the woman hurry after her within a moment.

“Well, ok—but I thought that you should know,” The songstress caught her arm, forcing her to slow down. “A certain ‘lord Fraldarius’ arrived earlier.”

At that, the emperor whirled around, her eyes widening. “What?” She breathed, having forgotten until then that she had in fact called for the notoriously obstinate lord to be summoned to the capital. To think that he would have arrived already—just how long had she been incapacitated for? “Where is he?” She hissed, stepping closer to her perplexed companion, resisting the urge to pull the woman’s sleeve. This was an opportunity—the opportunity she had been waiting for. 

Dorothea raised a brow, evidently further vexed by her sudden insistence, but the woman turned her head. “The regent was greeting him—,”

“No!” Edelgard scowled and stepped away. “Go tell him that I will meet with him immediately. Somewhere private—and I mean that, Dorothea.” Having made her command, the young woman turned and began to hurry back to her quarters, intending to at least fix her attire before meeting the esteemed duke of Fraldarius. This man had the potential of being either her greatest opponent or a stalwart ally, and she desperately hoped for the latter. 

She did not heed the woman’s concerned cries as she chastised her lack of care for her own health. Edelgard did not have time to spare on such trifles. She was well enough to walk—that was enough. Surely an elixir would be of great use, but as of now, she had meant her words—she would not dare consume something that the enchantress had created. Regardless of whether her suspicions were true, she wanted to minimize the risk. 

The young woman stormed into her quarters, startling the poor maiden that had been occupying it. “Lydia, find me something to wear; quickly.” She ignored the ache that spread throughout her body and began to strip off her sweat-soaked nightgown, noting that the girl had immediately set to doing as she had been bid. She stifled groans of discomfort and winced with every sudden motion, but still managed to rid herself of her prior garments. 

“My lady—a bath?” The young woman offered hesitantly, a simple gown draped across her arm.

“No need.” Edelgard stepped forward and allowed the girl to aid her into the dress, her chest still heaving from the exertion she had forced herself through. A quiet gasp flickered from her lips as she recalled the letter—the unfinished correspondence she had acquired following her first visit to the prince’s chambers. She maintained her patience as Lydia swiftly laced the gown, though as soon as the girl had finished, Edelgard darted away, making for the spot in which she had hidden it. 

“Shall I comb your hair?” 

She did not respond at once, fully focused on finding the blasted piece of parchment that she had tucked away amongst her things. What if someone had found it? What if someone had taken it? And what—what would they have done with it? It was a piece of evidence, best destroyed to keep unwanted eyes from prying into heinous secrets. She bit her lip, a tremor descending down her spine as the seconds dragged on and on and the parchment remained unfound.

At last, she felt it, and with a sigh of relief, the woman pulled free the somewhat ruffled parchment, folding it further and sliding it into the furtive pocket in her dress. “No.” Though her appearance was haggard and unkempt, she did not care. Perhaps the duke would be less inclined to think poorly of her if he saw that she had come as herself—the distance might not be as great then.

Edelgard pushed back her hair and composed herself, turning around at looking at the frightened girl. She realized that she had come in much like a whirlwind, and without much explanation, after having been missing for the night—as well as having been mysteriously deposited by the gates of the city following an encounter with the notorious beast. 

She strode towards the pair of shoes the girl had left out, wondering if this maiden too was keeping watch over her actions. It seemed unlikely, but now she found that it was not impossible, and that it could not hurt to be wary of even the most innocuous of faces. 

Edelgard lumbered back to the bed, still weary. Her night had been another restless one, though her dream still evaded her, she knew that it had been unpleasant. As she lowered herself to sit upon it, her eyes drifted sideward, to the dagger glinting atop the nightstand, where she had left it. 

She extended her hand and gingerly took hold of the little thing, her brows pinching together as she skimmed a finger down the sheath. She could not recall taking it with her, nor why she had, but she knew that it had been with her for years. Much of her memory was hazy, especially those regarding anything to do with Faerghus—which was where she acquired it, so far as she knew. She had spent some time here as a child…yes, she had. 

And this dagger was a memento of her time here—it carried the weight of sentiment. Even if she could not recall exactly when it had been given her, or by whom, she knew that she had received it and the giver’s feelings with warmth. It was a warm gift; one that emanated kindness. Perhaps it was that lingering affection that had prevented her from tossing it away after all these years. 

She sighed and replaced the dagger, her countenance dour as she withdrew her hand. The only memories left her were those of darkness and anguish. 

A gentle knock upon the door drew her from her reminiscence and the woman raised her head in time to watch her friend step through the doorway, slightly out of breath. Dorothea glanced at the maid, evidently hesitant to speak before the northern girl. She could not say she did not appreciate the wariness. 

Edelgard forced herself up, stifling a grimace at the strength it took to simply rise. Without speaking, she moved towards the songstress, refusing to allow her weakness to be displayed any more than it already had. 

She waited until they had both departed the chamber before leaning against her friend. The corridors were empty, to her fortune. “Well?” She managed to ask, raising her brow at the hazel-haired woman.

“I managed to pull him away from the regent.” Dorothea puffed out her chest triumphantly, beaming down at her. “On the pretext of having been utterly besotted with his charming looks.” The woman winked deviously, and she felt the slightest urge to laugh at the absurd statement. “He was not well pleased with the excuse, but, he agreed to meet with you.” 

“You have my thanks, Dorothea.” Edelgard sighed, closing her eyes as her companion led her down the halls—not knowing herself where they were heading. Regardless, she trusted the woman far more than she trusted anyone else in this accursed palace. 

“I have to say, Edie, he’s a funny fellow, this duke of yours.”

What a thing to say of the so-titled Shield of Faerghus. Edelgard glanced at her friend, not able to tell whether the glittering curiosity in her verdant eyes was genuine. She said nothing, vaguely puzzled by the woman’s faint, whimsical smile. She hardly knew what about the man that had fought beside the former king could be described as funny. Even she was not ignorant as to the duke’s aptitude for battle, outside of his unwavering loyalty to the royal house of Faerghus. 

“In here.” Dorothea hurriedly pulled her aside, laboriously pushing open a heavy, and rather furtive door in a shadowed alcove. Edelgard stepped inside, squinting into the sudden darkness—well, not complete darkness. There was a candle lit, sitting upon a table, but regardless, it was a definite contrast when compared to the halls. She heard the door fall closed again, and then the woman reappeared at her side. “We’re here!” The woman hissed, holding her arm tightly. 

For a breath, nothing happened, and Edelgard wondered whether the duke had truly agreed to meet her. It was a rather cramped and filthy space. Curious choice, though private indeed. She doubted anyone would come looking for them in so unsuspecting a location. She had not even known that door was there.

Yet something moved, the sound of steps met her ears, and in a moment, a figure seemed to spring from the shadows. She blinked, staring, rather astonished by the personage that had stepped into her sight. 

“Duke…Fraldarius?” She could not but frown at the unfamiliar visage. Of course she did not know exactly what he looked like, but she certainly was not expecting someone so youthful. Or so sour-faced. 

The man that had stepped into the candlelight’s radius was indeed much younger than she had been expecting. He was a slender figure, a man with very dark hair swept to one side, a short tail tied behind his head. He peered at her through narrow, keen eyes, his countenance seeming rather severe. There was little warmth to be found in his watchful gaze.

“That’s my father.” He declared testily, his brows furrowing further. 

His father? Edelgard frowned and stepped closer, narrowing her eyes at him. “I summoned for Duke Fraldarius.” She retorted, glancing sharply at the songstress beside her. The woman merely shrugged, seemingly as surprised as she was. 

The man released a dry, bitter laugh, crossing his arms. “That old man is in no shape to be traveling the distances you demand of him. What do you want?” It almost seemed that this young son was going to be a worse pain to deal with than the elder Fraldarius.

She stared at him, vexed and irritated herself. She had prepared a dialogue regarding the events she had experienced specifically for the elder Fraldarius, and the letter the prince had left behind was for him. What was she to do now? The woman heaved a sigh and raised a hand to her face, thinking. Could she still salvage the situation? There was no other choice—if this was the option she had been granted, than she would try regardless. 

Edelgard released another breath and lowered her hand, reaching for her pocket. She met the man’s cool, callous gaze and slipped the letter from the folds of her dress. “I must know first, young lord Fraldarius, where your allegiance lies.”

The man scoffed sharply, tensing up, and she noted how his hand twitched—as though he meant to reach for his sword. “Is this some sort of joke?” He snapped, glancing between them mistrustfully. 

“No.” She responded calmly, carefully setting the parchment atop the table, her fingers pressing it down. “Between the regent and the former royal house. Where does your allegiance lie?”

“That wench?” His lips twisted into a scowl and he spat the word as though it were venom in his mouth. “Only cowards bend the knee to that unscrupulous witch.” He certainly did not hold back, and it seemed that her intuition had not failed her. It did not at all seem that the young lord regard the Arnim regent highly in his mind. “Why are you asking me that, emperor?” His gaze skimmed up and down her figure and his lips turned down slightly. “You look like shit.”

Dorothea gasped incredulously, no doubt outraged at the man’s audacity. Before the seething woman could hiss a reply in her defense, Edelgard raised a hand and sighed. “Well, I had a bit of an unfortunate encounter in the woods.” She ignored the upward flick of his brows and pushed the letter towards him. “This was left behind by his highness, the late prince. It was addressed to your father.”

The man eyed her warily, but nonetheless reached out and took the parchment, his frown not once falling from his lips. She in turn observed his visage as his eyes scanned the letter, his displeasure only growing. It did not take long for him to read the short, uncompleted correspondence, but when he had finished, he slammed his palm against the table and leaned closer, visibly angered. “You—!” He growled, bristling like a seething cat. “Where did you find this?”

Edelgard was not disturbed or afeared by his temper. She merely raised her chin and schooled her expression into one of calm indifference. “That is irrelevant. There are topics of greater significance that we must foremost discuss.”

“Why are you shoving your nose into this, imperial?” The man barked, his temper seemingly only flaring at her deflection. It was a sensitive matter, she supposed, even now. Indeed the loss of their prince still gnawed at the kingdom’s heart. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“So tell me—do you think his highness, the esteemed prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd simply fell prey to the hunger of a mysterious beast?” She retorted, laying her own palms on the table, narrowing her eyes at the angry young man. 

“No.” The man snarled, tensing further at the use of the prince’s full name, even flinching faintly—as though he had been struck. “None of us did—no one with a functioning brain or half the courage of an ant believes that drivel.” 

What a fervent response—but it was indeed what she had wanted to hear. “Neither do I.” Edelgard admitted with a sigh, relaxing her own posture. She did not come to make quarrel—regardless of whether it was the elder or younger of the Fraldarius lords. “I do not trust the regent—and no, before you accuse me, I was not the one that chose to give her power.”

For once, the man closed his mouth and merely regarded her, his gaze still blatantly searching and wary. “Either way,” He began, returning his arms to their former position, folded across his chest. “What does this have to do with you?”

Edelgard frowned and closed her eyes, taking a breath. “I did not knowingly, nor willingly get myself entangled in this affair. All I knew at first was that some sort of beast was spreading terror across the lands. How could I have known such a significant conspiracy would unfold before me?” One that did not end merely at the borders of the north—but even spanned across the lands to her own empire. “But now my own life is at stake.” She refrained from explaining too much of her motivations, it was not presumptuous to assume that the young man would not take kindly to the underlying incentives. 

“What?” Dorothea suddenly interceded, almost having startled her. “What do you mean at stake?” The songstress moved to her side, her brows furrowed as she peered down at her. 

Edelgard bit her tongue, debating whether or not to confess to the strange things she had been experiencing of late. It would be rather unfair of her to allow the woman to remain ignorant now. “Right; this is more than a mere mystery, Dorothea. I fear this may be a scheme to overthrow the structure of power throughout the continent. A scheme that was set in motion five years ago with the prince’s demise.” 

“And now they’re targeting you?” The woman gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth. “Edie!”

“Hush.” She snapped, wincing at another sudden throb of pain that shot through her skull. “I have no decisive proof as of yet. All I have are conjectures. Regardless, I believe that the regent was hoping that I would perish along with the rest of my men in that forest. It certainly would have made things easier for her.” 

“Wait, you actually went into that wood?” The man spoke suddenly, drawing their attention—and he seemed rather intrigued. “And came out…alive?” There was a strange note to his voice, like a hint of awe, or admiration. 

“Well, someone had to try vanquishing the creature.” She remarked, lifting her chin slightly in pride. Not that there was very much to be proud of. She had very nearly died, just like everyone else that had stepped foot into that wood. 

The man seemed to regard her differently then, glancing at her appraisingly, and then huffing. “My father was preparing to ready his own forces and march into that forest. And then lead them straight into the capital for a coup.” 

Edelgard scoffed, rather impressed by the young man’s brazenness. One would not normally confess to planning an act of treason, and certainly not before the ruler of the nation they meant to oppose. 

His countenance grew somewhat doleful and the young man averted his gaze. “He never forgave that creature, or her, for what they did to him.” For a moment, a flicker of grief flashed through his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “You saw it then—what did it look like?”

She shuddered at the memory. “Revolting. Grotesque.” The woman muttered, pausing as she recalled its—its eyes. “But…it almost looked…” Human. Despite the warped and twisted, mangled flesh and fur, she began to clearly recall that the beast had stood up on two legs and walked like a man. Yes—it had. And strangely enough, it had possessed something akin to hair atop its head. 

She blinked, staring at nothing in particular as the memories she had been unable to recall thus far began to resurface clearly. With perfect clarity, in fact, she remembered that the beast had approached her, it had stalked to her, and instead of snapping her neck with its fanged maw, had merely looked at her with those…

Blue eyes.

Startlingly blue—the same color that had been haunting her over and again, in every damned memory, dream. The eyes in the painting. 

Her heart seemed to echo through the room, loud, hurried, as the pieces began to fall into place. The dreams she had grasped at—they began to meld into images. The dream that she had woken from weeping—the visions drifted in her skull; the smiling man, his affectionate embrace, his bright, kind eyes. The horrifying metamorphosis she had seen in her nightmare, from man to hideous monster—the screaming, howling voice that had yelled and wailed over and over again—

Her name. El. It had said El. 

She had heard it right before her consciousness had faded; the beast had spoken, and it had said her name. And then it had carried her back to the gates of the city.

She did not know she was trembling until a pair of arms encircled her and a soothing voice began to whisper soothing words into her ear. Edelgard blinked away tears, the hot fluid trickling down her cheeks. 

He had told her to save him. 

But how—how was it possible? How could it be—how could—! It was unfathomable, and yet everything seemed to point to that very conclusion. 

There had been no beast before the prince had ventured into the wood. The regent was the only one to return unscathed—the regent known for her proficiency in enchantments. The prince had been hailed as one of the kingdom’s most able fighters, monstrously strong—and now that rampaging beast was impossible to destroy for its incredible strength. The beast and its appearance, its intelligence, beyond that of a mere crazed animal. 

And the very fact that it had looked her in the eyes and had not devoured her. 

She swayed, the weight of her revelation drawing the strength from her muscles. The woman could hardly hear her friend’s concerned queries, could barely care that she had gone so despondent before a man that was very likely to be her enemy. 

Because now she knew the truth. 

“Edie?”

The woman flinched, startled from her reverie, hurriedly lifting a hand to her eyes. “I—,” She stammered, stepping away from the songstress’ caring embrace. She sniffled, wiping away the tears that seemed ceaseless. “I am fine.” She said stiffly, turning her head away and clearing her throat. 

“That bad, huh?” 

The dry voice cut through the quiet and she flicked her gaze to the man that was yet still present. Edelgard forcibly pushed aside her astounding revelations and coughed. It was not time yet—she could not reveal such a thing; they would only think her mad. In truth, she almost thought herself mad. But she could no longer simply dismiss the possibility, as outrageous as it may seem. “Did you—did you know the prince?” She was surprised by the hoarseness of her voice and quickly cleared her throat again. 

The man nodded, his visage once again seeming to grow shadowed with an earnest grief. They must have been close, if even this foul-tempered man grew sullen at the mere mention of the late prince. Late—no, the man was still alive. 

She bit her tongue and forced the words back down her throat. It was not time yet to reveal it. But the inklings of a plan began to form in her mind regardless. Assured that the sudden swell of emotion had finally dissipated, the woman raised her chin and peered at the Fraldarius heir. “I can find proof of the regent’s wrongdoings.” Edelgard declared, disregarding her friend’s gasp of astonishment. “I will. I swear it.” If all went as she needed, then the most significant evidence of the woman’s crimes would present itself. 

There was still a number of things to be done before that, however, and she did not want the regent’s eyes to be upon her as she saw to them, and for that…

Edelgard looked at her friend, mustering her usual solemn façade. “Dorothea, can I count on your help?”

“You don’t need to ask, Edie.” The woman chirped without hesitation, smiling brightly despite the flicker of concern in her eyes. 

“And you, lord Fraldarius?” She turned her gaze towards the dark-haired man, lifting a brow. “I am not going to make any demands of you, nor your house. It just so happens that we have a common enemy.”

The lord said nothing for a short time, as though deliberating inwardly as to whether or not he wanted to ally himself with her, who was in actuality, the greatest threat to his kingdom. After pondering the request, the man offered her a brisk nod. “Felix. I swore I’d tear that witch from her high horse.” He strode around the table and paused before her, still frowning, even as he offered her a hand. 

Edelgard returned the nod and gripped the offered hand, glad to have made an ally, unlikely as it was. “I will need you both to distract the regent—however you can. Dorothea, watch her; I do not care what you need to do, but throw her attention off of me.”

“Of course.” The woman turned her head and beamed at the man, who in turn uttered his disgust, moving away from them both. “But, what are you planning on doing, Edie?” 

Though she had known that the query would be posed, she was still distressed at having received it. The woman cleared her throat and shook her head, trying to concoct some sort of excuse. She could not voice her true intentions—that scheme would be thwarted at once. “I cannot tell you—yet. Know that I am confident in where I must begin my search.” 

Felix clicked his tongue, evidently annoyed by the vague answer, but he did not protest. The man turned to leave and waved the letter he had still been holding. “I’m taking this.” Without waiting for her confirmation, he stalked away, slipping through the door with the precision and subtly of a thief. She had not been going to protest it anyway; the letter was addressed to a member of his house, it was his right to have.

Edelgard heaved a sigh and leaned against the wall behind her, closing her eyes. What a tumult her mind had become—a hurricane of thoughts, fears, questions. Were those dreams truly a product of some sort of enchantment upon herself? It did not seem so likely anymore, as they had been the reason for her having realized the truth, or the supposed truth. It was still a possibility though, even if the regent had not done fed her something unsavory yet, there was no knowing if she would. 

So many uncertainties—even her new theory was highly uncertain. Either she was right, and the prince was indeed still alive, or she was wrong and…well, regardless of the outcome—there was a chance at her demise. Even if he had spared her then, it did not seem as though he was in complete possession of his sensibilities. If she approached carelessly, then it would all have been for naught. 

But she could hardly take action now—not with her body still in such a battered state. There was still time to think on it. Until then…

Edelgard pushed away and looked at her friend, the woman still having been present, waiting for her presumably. “Dorothea, find me some vulneraries—and make certain they have not been created by the regent.”

The songstress offered her a nod and extended a hand, which the young woman gratefully accepted. The true battle had only just begun, and the worst was yet to come. 

Edelgard raised her head and peered out the windows as Dorothea led her down the halls and back into her quarters. The howling that she had heard—that dreadful sound that struck terror into the hearts of those who heard it. A faint, melancholy smile touched at her lips as she pondered it—whether it truly was just a cold, bloodthirsty howl of a hungry beast—or whether it was a lone, lost man’s doleful cry for help. 

Save me.

She would. She swore it in her heart—to discover the truth, to free him. To save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intentionally tried to make this chapter a little disorienting and such to mirror Edelgard's own state of mind. Dunno if it worked, but here we are, we're getting to the good stuff I think. As much as I love this work, I don't want to drag it out too long, so maybe a few more chapters will resolve everything? 
> 
> I will eventually get to Quiet Days, there were still some ideas that I wanted to write for that one. And there's a separate one-shot that I promised someone that I will also get myself to write! 
> 
> Anyway, I missed writing for these two and I'll try and get back into it.


	6. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It comes to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out longer than I was expecting to be honest, I just wasn't sure where to end it. And I'm still not sure that I ended it at a good place
> 
> Alas, here we are! We're creeping to the end of the story! 
> 
> I just really really wanted some Edeltri interaction

She skimmed her gaze over the flowers of darkness that spanned the flesh of her back. How long had it been now, a week? Or perhaps a few days longer. It did not seem as though there had been any dramatic improvement in the appearance. Her skin still looked mottled and rather revolting to the eye. At least walking was no longer as much of a chore as it had been during the earliest stages of her recovery.

Edelgard sighed and pulled her robe back up, settling it over her shoulders. 

Truth be told, she was getting anxious, nervous, and rather impatient. Drinking vulneraries daily helped in only the smallest of ways. It eased her pain and allowed her to breathe unfettered, though undoubtedly, an elixir would have been of much greater benefit. Regardless, even if it were so, she was adamant in her resolve. Thus far, she had feigned acceptance of the regent’s generous and gracious offers, but once alone, she poured the vile fluid out.

And speaking of the regent…

The woman was getting impatient herself, it seemed—and the arrival of Duke Fraldarius’ son only exacerbated her insistence. Edelgard had given her best effort in avoiding the peony-haired enchantress, but of course, their meeting was inevitable. There were few excuses she could not give that would render her unable to meet with said woman. Even her poor condition could no longer provide ample reason to refuse the regent.

So at last, she bit her tongue and permitted the enchantress into her quarters.

Edelgard had bid Dorothea to cover as much of her bruised skin as possible in order to give the appearance of having been healed—to make it look as though she had been dutifully ingesting the concoctions the woman had provided. Of course, if she had been, than this would not have been an issue; thus, to remedy any possibility of garnering excess suspicion towards herself, such rudimentary methods as painting over her skin would do. Where the cloth would not cover, that was. Most of that which was not possible to hide was blatantly displayed across her face. 

Now then, this meeting of theirs…she was quite assured as to the subject of the woman’s growing ire. Since the duke’s heir had come to the palace, he had been causing quite the stir—and he had been left unattended and without chastisement. He gave absolutely no care in speaking ill of the regent’s name and openly rebuking her reign. Undoubtedly, this would have angered the woman. As such, she would come with fluttering lashes and a simpering smile and kindly ask that the young man be thrown into a dungeon cellar until he learned to hold his tongue.

And she would, of course, feign an apologetic attitude and declare with the utmost frustration that she could do no such thing lest she provoke the duke’s fury. It would not do to treat the lord’s son so harshly, and so he would be permitted to resume his tirades. It was both for the purpose of her ploy in keeping the woman distracted and for her own amusement. 

Edelgard allowed herself a faint, satisfied smile as she lifted a fragrant cup of pine-needle tea to her lips, quite pleased with herself and her two accomplices. Dorothea too had been causing no end of irritation, purposefully sidling up to the regent and pretending to desire a long and intimate friendship. Apparently they had tea daily, as the regent could not possibly refuse the emperor’s own trusted companion. 

The woman lifted her head and peered outside, the curtains having been pulled aside at her behest. Another gray, doleful day. She had grown rather accustomed to the sight of the wintry scape, and she supposed that there was a sort of melancholy beauty to be found in the monochromatic hues. Dawn to dusk, little changed by ways of the weather. It either snowed, or for a short spell, the world stilled and grew silent.

Indeed, with the constant flurries of white that poured from the malevolent heavens, the roads grew further impassable. She wondered how she might even begin to think of departing in this condition—and yet, regardless, she must. Foolhardy and undoubtedly reckless, her scheme had been set into motion. Just as before, she was very much liable to lose her life—though, perhaps there was an even greater chance of it now. 

Had anyone been aware of her plans, they would have vehemently refused to allow her to go—Dorothea most certainly would. Anyone that retained a sound mind would know that it was akin to suicide, what she wished to do. Nevertheless, the emperor was resolved to seek the answer to the riddles that had been brought before her—and the answer was to be found in that bleak, gods-forsaken wood. 

Her only hope hinged on quite the feeble theory. Well, feeble to any that she might try to explain it to—it was outlandish and fantastical, and yet, she was convinced of its truth. This obstinate determination of hers may very well be the catalyst for her early demise, and it was to her fortune that she was rational enough to know this. 

Her silent rumination was yet intruded upon when three knocks sounded at the door to her quarters. The woman turned her head and watched, saying nary a word, as her trusted companion stepped through the threshold, a bright and cheerful smile upon her face—and behind her, as was to be expected, a certain peony-haired woman.

Though the regent was smiling outwardly, Edelgard saw at once that it was a strained and hollow smile. Her façade was on the verge of dissolving; indeed these days had been a true test of her patience, and it was almost impressive that she had not demanded such an audience earlier. She supposed that was in itself a laudable achievement. 

Edelgard did not stand, nor motion to greet her guest, merely fixed her gaze upon the approaching woman, her keen eyes following the woman’s movements. Nothing was amiss, her performance was flawless as she offered another saccharine smile and dipped into a fluid and graceful curtsey. “Your majesty.” The woman purred, taking quite an effort to conceal her mounting irritation. 

“Regent Arnim.” Edelgard glanced at her waiting companion and nodded a dismissal, and with a grin and a wink of her own, Dorothea heeded her and took her leave, humming quietly as she did so. “I apologize for the delay. I was not prepared to meet with you.” She offered a reconciliatory greeting, taking a sip of her tea. Pine needle tea—apparently quite the common beverage in the north, and one she had found quite pleasant. 

The woman laughed and fluidly took the seat opposite her, waving aside the statement as though she had not been at all affronted by the numerous refusals. “No, your majesty—assuredly your health is of far greater import.” Well, that was to be expected, and she could say display no sentiment other than this one. No one would dare chide their sovereign upon a matter as this, and so regardless of how aggravated the regent had been, she had no choice but to grit her teeth and bear it. 

And so she did. Clearing her throat quietly, the woman folded her hands atop her lap and smiled once more. “And how do you fare, your majesty? You seem to have regained your strength; it is truly fortunate. I am glad to have aided in your recovery, your majesty.” With a faux humility, the woman bowed her head in reverence, perhaps hoping to be praised.

Edelgard truly would not have liked to do so, but she had her own pretense to see through. The young woman bit back a sigh and mustered a rather stiff smile, nodding her head. “Assuredly. My days surely would have been of a greater torment had you not provided me with such effective tonics.” Never mind that she had not consumed a single drop and had, in fact, suffered through nights of restless sleep and aching pains. Even the healthy flush across her cheeks was a mere mixture of pigments and powder. 

Her farce of a smile faded from her visage and the emperor lowered her cup, meeting the woman’s gaze steadily. “Now, you have been requesting to meet with me for some time. I cannot help but wonder at the cause of such insistence.”

The regent once again bowed her head and pressed her hands to her chest in a display of timid remorse, and had Edelgard not been exposed to such charades before, she might have found the woman’s acts quite convincing. As it was, it simply looked silly. “I do beg your pardon, your majesty; I would not have dared be so presumptuous in my requests had the situation not escalated so drastically.”

Now that nearly drew a smirk from her, but the young emperor betrayed no such smug satisfaction and kept her expression utterly indiscernible. “Oh?” As though she did not already know what it was that was so unbearable, she raised a brow and leaned forward, utterly attentive. “Drastic? If that is so, then I suppose I must be the one to apologize for my incompetence in that this matter has not been permitted to have been resolved. What is it that you speak of?”

Edelgard regarded her guest most solemnly, though was inwardly quite pleased. Would the woman still dare to go on with this persistence, even if it meant agreeing with the emperor’s deprecation of herself? If the regent did not amend her prior words, then it may as well mean that she had called her superior incompetent. It would be amusing then to watch the woman grow frenzied and wag her tongue in order to attempt weaving some sort of plausible story. 

Indeed, as she had expected, the regent’s smile froze and seemed to falter briefly. The woman coughed and waved her hand. “Oh—no, not at all!” She hurriedly assured, her verdant eyes seemingly flashing with irritation. “Your majesty is not at fault. It was my folly; it is not so dire a matter as I had implied. Alas, not yet.”

“So you imply instead that it will grow to become one?” The emperor queried, perfectly composed and perfectly at ease. 

The woman was silent a moment, seemingly mulling over her words, remaining cautious all whilst appearing to be amicable and unperturbed. Clearing her throat again, the regent nodded, her expression shifting into one of grave concern. “Well, naturally. Who is to say what that unseemly villain will begin to spout next?” She did wonder how the young heir would take to hearing such a phrase said of himself. “The…lord Fraldarius has been causing a ceaseless uproar, your majesty.”

At last, the matter at hand. Edelgard bit back a scoff and nodded, lifting her cup to her lips again. “Is that so? What manner of an uproar?” Such occasions as these could grow so monotonous—holding strong to facades in this way was surely wearisome. And since this matter was of her orchestration, it was even more tiring to sit through. 

“He speaks nonsense.” The woman scoffed, her aggravation apparent at last. She made no effort to conceal her displeasure with their guest. “He slanders my name without regard for keeping the palace’s peace. I fear that if left unrestrained, the knave will only grow emboldened. The saints know that he may soon come to curse your majesty’s name as well. If he resumes his heinous actions, then others may begin to agree with him. What if his baseless accusations become the spark to ignite an uprising?” 

Edelgard found it striking in an odd way that the woman had decided to explicitly include the words ‘baseless accusations’ into her speech. Of course, she did not know exactly what Felix Fraldarius had been saying of her, but it seemed that the woman was rather fearful of her having the slightest belief in them. Well, it was far too late to attempt saving herself from suspicion now. “I understand; your fears can certainly be considered quite valid.” She relented as much, but knew that the man would not say a word of her—not while they were under this agreement. “What would you have me do?”

The light of excitement shone in the woman’s green eyes and she straightened, clearing her throat, evidently having been waiting for just this moment. She believed that she had earned her unwavering support in this matter. “Of course your majesty would comprehend the gravity of the situation.”

Yes, of course. 

The regent leaned closer, a sort of strange and manic glee glittering in her gaze. “Troublesome tongues are best silenced, would you not agree? Would it not be wise to still his irksome protests? Some time in the dungeons could do no harm.” No, a few nights would indeed do no harm—but the expression that had gripped the woman’s face was far from innocuous. Whatever she meant to do to him in the dungeons would do far more harm. Did the woman truly believe that she would simply acquiesce and permit her to play with her prisoner as she liked? 

Even if Edelgard were heartless and as cold and merciless a sovereign as the world deemed her to be, there was still politics to be taken into account. She sighed and raised a hand to her temples, closing her eyes. “You are too hasty, Regent Arnim.” The emperor responded, rubbing at her head distractedly. “Let us not forget that he is the Shield’s son. If word were to spread of such treatment, warranted or otherwise, this would incite far greater a rebellion than a mere accusation or two.” She watched the woman deflate with great pleasure, but held back her satisfaction. 

“I have no fear of one man’s scorn, and neither should you.” She concluded, raising her gaze and settling it upon the woman once more. “Unless…there is a reason for your having grown so distressed over a few words?” 

The peony-haired woman offered her a smile, but one that was cold and stiff, as though death itself had taken hold of her expression. “Certainly not. Forgive my impatience, your majesty. I was merely concerned for your sake.”

“I thank you, but I have no need of it.” Edelgard retorted tersely, wondering briefly just how much more she could push the woman. As remarkable an actress as she was, even she too must certainly have a point beyond which she could no longer resume the façade. It would not be wise to push too much in so short a time, regardless of whether or not she wanted to. Still, as the woman began to take her leave, Edelgard could not but ask one more, seemingly innocent query. “Regent, do you speak often with my uncle?” 

Perhaps startled by the sudden inquiry, the woman paused and looked at her, as though not quite sure as to whether the question was some sort of trick. After brief moment, she smiled pleasantly and offered a nod. “Well of course, your majesty. I only do as his grace bids.” She sank into a low curtsey once more. “My gratitude for taking the time to speak with me, your majesty.” 

Edelgard merely nodded, somewhat perplexed by the answer. She had not known whether she had wanted it to be such. Even if the answer had been ‘no’, she would have doubted it regardless—but the woman had admitted to it. As though there was nothing to hide. Even if the two were corresponding, there was no evidence to prove that lord Arundel was somehow related to the incidents occurring in the north. 

The woman could simply be acting on her own, without her uncle’s knowledge…and yet that too seemed rather unlikely. However, would a simple former researcher have clawed her way to such a noble position without having had support from the shadows—strong support in addition. As it happened, her uncle fulfilled the requirements of such a position. 

She sighed and lowered her head, resting it upon her hands. She had fallen into a well—a well that only grew wider and wider, bottomless. It was all she could do to hold her breath and keep from drowning. 

She need only wait a little longer. Soon, this would all be resolved; she would make it so. She had to make it so. 

The woman raised her head and looked at her hands, staring blankly at the pale skin, at the callouses that had been growing thin. Soon, but not soon enough. She curled her fingers inward, forming fists. Soon, this mystery would be wholly unraveled. Soon. Soon. Soon.

But not soon enough.

Edelgard pressed her lips together and heaved a breath, wishing that her wounds would heal, that the aches would cease, that she would once again regain her strength and be able to venture out into the white abyss. 

She stood, leaving behind her cup of cooling tea, and slowly made her way to the bed, far too large, far too empty for her small frame. The woman paused before it, a flicker of a distant memory igniting like an ember in her skull; a fragment of a dream, she recognized it as. Without sparing a moment to ponder the tantalizing image, she bent and pulled free a sack she had been preparing. 

Edelgard glanced about herself, almost tempted to hold her breath, as though she—the emperor was doing something illicit. Well, in a sense, she was. Hubert would surely suffer an attack of the heart if he knew that she was planning on doing something so, as he would say, moronic. 

She could hear his voice in her head, the wry drawl, and bit back a smile as she opened the bag and peered inside—something she did frequently as a method to stay her impatience. It was filled with things she had been furtively stowing away in preparation for her foolhardy trek. She could not venture a guess as to how long she might be stranded in the frigid winter, so as a precaution, she had been storing food that would not easily spoil, as well as an extra blanket.

The woman stared at the sack, a rueful smile twisting her lips, and she managed a faint sigh, pushed it back in place. She could only imagine the chaos that would overtake the palace upon the discovery of her sudden absence. She would leave Dorothea a note, and perhaps the songstress would not worry too much. She did not quite know how to explain her departure, even to her companion—surely it would sound like the ravings of a lunatic, so she supposed that left only one explanation.

To finish what she had started. 

A bitter, bleak chuckle tumbled from her lips and she shook her head as she pushed herself up. What a feeble excuse. Even so, it was entirely plausible. And it sounded like a nobler cause than to simply go back and fetch her axe. Edelgard was not sure which of these reasons would earn her a harsher scolding, but it did not matter. 

Well, there was no need to continue dwelling on this for the time. She had spent long enough in her quarters, it would not do to remain withdrawn for the remainder of the day. She needed to pass the time in some way, and sitting in place thinking ceaselessly of what may come would not aid her in doing so.

The woman decided then to wander the halls again and further acquaint herself with the antiquated palace. She had been rather lax in attaining a familiarity with her environment—and if for whatever reason, she might need to know how to navigate one passage or another, it would duly be wise to know them. It was a fair distraction, and surely walking would do her health some good. It was not in her habit to remain idle regardless.

And so the emperor tossed on a thick shawl and made her escape, looking left and right before departing her quarters. She did not especially want anyone to halt her or to offer a tour, she could manage just as well on her own, as before. 

She was perfectly content to simply wander, no set destination in mind. And so she did. Edelgard ambled through the darkened, chilled corridors, no sound but for the quiet clicking of her heels against the stone. Once again, it was remarkably lonesome, these great, cavernous walls of stone. A strange and foreign heaviness settled over her heart as she trekked through the paths that seemed both alien and familiar. 

The sense of longing, a distorted warmth, a warped piece of memory; once again, the emperor found herself imagining that she had visited this place before, long before. Long before the horrors of cruelty and grief had swept the mirth from the halls, before tragedy had dampened its spirit. It had been a simpler time, surely—a time in which she could still laugh, unburdened and carefree, could take another’s hand in her own and pull them by her side. 

Now this empty palace felt a crypt, bound and shackled by ghosts, haunted by a ceaseless grief. Was it possible, she wondered, to restore it, to breathe life and light back into the weary walls. Perhaps. Perhaps it was—and perhaps she could. 

Edelgard halted abruptly, her breath caught in her throat as she realized where her feet had carried her. She stood at the threshold of a silent hall—grand and sprawling, dim—a flickering ember of what had once been a glorious blaze. The throne room. 

It felt like an undisturbed grave—as though stepping one foot further was a sin. She, an outsider, an invader, had no right to disrupt the slumbering peace, to walk the floor—and yet, she could not but stare, wide-eyed at the place above the throne. 

Hardly daring to breathe, the emperor crept inside, her stride slow and soft, her lips quivering just faintly as she approached, her gaze locked upon that which had caught her attention. Step by step, the woman crossed the hall like a thief creeping into a hallowed sanctuary. Still, she could not look away. Her gaze was drawn to the shroud that hung suspended behind the throne—a vivid and vibrant blue, threaded with a blinding gold and the purest of whites—a depiction of a knight upon a griffin, proud and regal. The kingdom’s banner—and beneath that brilliant banner was held aloft by a pair of twin, stone knights a gleaming lance.

They stood at either side of the throne, the relic extended between them, held in position—and it was beautiful. The long golden shaft, almost seeming to gleam beneath the braziers’ gentle flames, the elongated head, curved like a claw, elegant and deadly both. The kingdom’s relic. Whether or not it had been tended to all these years, it looked perfectly kept, polished and clean.

“What are you doing here?”

To her shame, the woman startled at the sudden voice that had so abruptly intruded upon the sacred silence. Edelgard released a breath and pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heart to settle. Without a word, she turned her head and watched a figure stalk out of the darkness that shadowed the edges of the hall. A familiar, sour-faced man stepping into the light, folding his arms across his chest. 

His tone was nearly accusatory, and without a doubt filled with no small measure of suspicion. The man’s eyes flicked to the relic and then returned to her, and narrowed further, his lips curling into a scowl. 

She refused to look away, lest that somehow assure him of her guilt. “I was taking a stroll, then I caught sight of this.” Edelgard cleared her throat quietly, gesturing to the relic that had caught her eye. “This belonged to one of the elites, no?” To absolve herself of whatever shame he had unwittingly thrust upon her, the woman stepped down from the stairs she had unknowingly climbed and met the man’s gaze once more.

The Fraldarius heir’s expression did not soften, but at the very least, he did not accuse of her attempting to thieve it. “Blaiddyd’s lance.” He responded tersely, easing some of his tension and taking a few more steps to stand by her side, raising his head to peer at the relic. It seemed for a moment that an echo of a long-standing grief darkened his countenance. “Areadbhar. It was supposed to belong to—,”

Before he could utter the name, the man stopped short, tensing once again. His angular brows furrowed and he scowled, lowering his gaze. He too could not speak that name. However brusque and tough he wanted to present himself, this surly man too had known the despair of having lost someone dear to him. 

Edelgard did not look away, staring at the angry young man, wondering if he had always been so abrasive. “I take it you and he were quite close.” She said softly, her eyes widening somewhat when he laughed—a curt, sharp sound.

The young lord sneered and shook his head, but his shifting eyes betrayed his façade. “Close? To that naïve idiot?” His voice was strained, and though he opened his mouth again, presumably to deny the statement, no words left his lips. Edelgard turned her gaze from him, allowing him a moment to gather his thoughts. 

“You know, he was strong—annoyingly strong.” She heard him say—and his voice had gone rather quiet, more of a murmur. “He’d always break my swords when we were kids. And then he’d cry about it because he felt so bad.” Bitterness lay dormant beneath his otherwise acerbic tone. The man laughed humorlessly, his shoulders sagging slightly. “If he was so damn strong, why couldn’t he save himself?”

Because he was still alive—she almost said, but bit her tongue in time to swallow the words. Instead, the woman turned to face him, resisting the urge to wring her hands. “What if he had survived?” She asked, and understandably, the young man snapped his head to the side to sneer at her. 

There was little forgiveness in his frigid gaze as he peered at her, and whatever temporary peace she had cultivated was at once thrown aside. “Are you mocking me?”

The woman grimaced and shook her head, knowing that she should not have spoken. “No—,”

“As if dad hasn’t deluded himself enough, now you? And what do you even have to do with any of this? Stay out of it.” The man snarled, just tall enough to glower down his nose at her. Edelgard was not particularly affronted by his sudden defensiveness, but rather, her interest was piqued.

“Your father—Duke Fraldarius believes he lives?” She asked, both surprised and somewhat relieved to hear it was so. Though simultaneously she could not but be disappointed then at his son’s arrival in his stead. 

The dark-haired man scoffed and turned away, evidently unwilling, and undesiring to carry on with their conversation. “He’s out of his mind. The old man is convinced that he’s out there.” Without turning back to look at her, the man allowed a dry laugh to tumble from his tongue once more. “That’s ridiculous.” She watched as his hand tightened on the hilt of the blade at his side. “If that boar is still alive…why hasn’t he come back?”

Those were his parting words to her—and Edelgard said nothing as the young man took his leave. Why, he asked—well, because he could not. Because he was shackled to a monstrous form and sentenced to wander his own lands as a friendless beast. 

The young emperor sighed and turned her head to glance again at the banner lying limply against the wall, a reminder of what had been before. No; it was a promise of what was to come. The woman descended to her knees and pressed her fist to her heart, her expression growing solemn as she kneeled before the empty throne. It was her vow, here in this hallowed place; she would free the burdened soul and restore him to his place.

As she realized what she was doing, the woman allowed a quiet laugh to trickle from her tongue, a somewhat wry smile quirking her lips. How foolish of her, making such an oath. An oath she may not even be able to keep, no less. Well, if there were some anguished apparitions keeping watch over this hall, then perhaps they would forgive her soul when it returned to join them in dwelling here. 

At least I made an effort, she could say. 

The young woman rose once more and swept the dust from her skirts, turning and departing. She would not return to this place until she had the rightful heir at her side. She would guide him to his throne—

Edelgard paused, surprised by her own thought, by her willingness to give the man back his kingdom. What had happened to her that she had forgotten that by every rights the kingdom was no more—it was a dukedom beneath the empire’s banners. That was so—this land was now hers, and even so, strangely, the notion did not perturb her as much as it would have before. Perhaps because everything had been taken from him before he had even been given the chance to defend it. 

Was it sympathy, or guilt? Or perhaps neither, and something altogether foreign.

The woman shook her head free of these thoughts and resumed her pace. Such troubles could wait. What use was there in despairing over such divisive matters before anything had been set in stone. It would be unwise to once again grow overconfident and believe wholly in the success of her endeavor. Caution was yet imperative. As she had assured herself before, there was no way of knowing whether the beast, whether he would recognize her again. It had very nearly been her demise that day—he had been just as willing, just as ready to tear her apart. 

A thought struck her then, and truly, why had she not thought of it before? Had there been any other such instances? That was, of a man becoming a beast? Surely if it was possible, then it had to have happened before, and surely someone had documented it. 

Instead of continuing down towards her quarters again, the woman turned and began to make her way to the library, both hopeful and curious. But perhaps her hope was misplaced—if this was some sort of nefarious magic, then such knowledge would not be made freely available nor simple to discover. 

She stopped short once again, frustrated. One moment, hope, the next, once again the reality. If the regent was behind this, which Edelgard was very nearly certain that she was, then the woman had surely confiscated such materials and taken them away as her own belongings. Or perhaps they were hers to begin with…which only left one option. Now, she had no viable excuse to give as to why she should enter and search the regent’s quarters herself. She was not one to dabble in the arcane, however her companion…

Once again the emperor stopped short, almost irritated with her own indecisiveness, but this time, she was pleased with the idea that had formed in her mind. Dorothea had been trying to curry the woman’s favor of late anyway; surely she could easily express interest in learning from the woman, and in doing so, could gain access to whatever the woman had on hand. Dorothea could search through her materials and perhaps even nick whatever she found.

Well, that settled that issue; she truly should have thought of that sooner. 

The emperor scoffed at herself, both somewhat smug and just slightly vexed. Was she truly so tired now that her mind had become dulled? How unfortunate. Had Hubert been here, he would have noted this possibility long ago.

Ah, but now that she had realized this, there was no purpose in delaying it. She would tell Dorothea to begin this operation at once. 

And so once more the emperor found herself marching through the halls, this time with an established scheme in mind. The woman’s quarters were in actuality, quite near to her own, so it was doubly beneficial that she had decided this. 

It did not take very long to find her way back, and so Edelgard entered her friend’s room without prior notice, and in doing so, mistakenly interrupted her companion’s apparent musical session. Thus the glare that she earned in return was quite warranted. The woman cleared her throat, frowning faintly. “My apologies, I had been in a hurry…” She began to reason, but the songstress held up a hand, her scowl quickly replaced by a forgiving smile. 

“If it’s you, Edie, I’ll forgive it.” Dorothea chirped amicably, putting aside the sheets of music that she had been holding onto. Edelgard could not help but stare curiously at the unfinished score as the woman made to put them away. “What do you need?”

“That, ah…are you writing something new?” Her curiosity got the better of her and the woman brought her query to voice, raising her gaze to look at her companion. To her surprise, the songstress flushed, her cheeks growing a soft pink, and the woman quickly looked away, evidently embarrassed by the inquiry, though why, she could not guess.

Dorothea made haste to shove the sheets into a box and swiftly turned to face her, seemingly perplexed. The young woman cleared her throat, glancing about almost nervously. Now that was certainly an odd reaction—a rather strong one too, for a query seemingly so harmless. “Well, maybe.” The woman replied in a meek voice, fidgeting with her hands some. “I heard that, well, a certain young lord is partial to music. I thought maybe…”

Edelgard could not help the laugh that escaped her lips, but she quickly silenced it, both surprised and amused by this development. Well, she supposed Dorothea herself was partial to handsome young men, yet even if that were so…of all the potential suitors, what an odd choice. Well, that was not her concern. “Right.” The emperor composed herself and took another step into her companion’s quarters. “I have another task for you, one that you may find more difficult, but it is one of greater import.” 

The songstress quickly forgot her prior mortification and perked up, seemingly interested. “Well, let me hear it then.” The woman leaned against her desk, her head cocked to the side as she awaited the response.

The emperor hoped that the songstress would not question the cause behind her new request—or at least, not too deeply. With a sigh, the woman met her companion’s gaze, her countenance stern. “I need you to search through the regent’s books, papers, tomes—anything, really.”

Dorothea’s brows rose in astonishment, but she said nothing at first, merely allowed a faint frown to mar her visage. “Is that…so?” The woman lifted a hand and twined a finger through her hair, humming quietly. “And, what would I be looking for?”

Now this would be the difficulty, she supposed. “You know I have my suspicions regarding that woman; I would imagine that any evidence of her having used…unsavory magic would be hidden amongst her materials. I thought that since you are already distracting her, and since you too are a mage, it would be feasible for you to gain access to those things.”

The songstress hummed once more and nodded slowly, tapping a finger against her chin. “Well, yes, it is certainly possible. However, I don’t think she’d be foolish enough to leave anything incriminating out in the open, nor to let me read them.”

“Hence the point in having earned her trust.” Edelgard retorted with a frown, tempted to pace. “As of now, she still believes that we are allies. I imagine that you would be quite capable of subtly showing interest into less acceptable forms of the arcane.” The woman sighed and waved a dismissive hand, turning to depart. “However you do it, Dorothea—I will leave it to you.”

Edelgard made to leave, but the woman’s voice gave her pause. “Edie, something’s off about you.”

She said nothing, did not know what to say. 

“Are you…okay? You’ve been acting, well, different, since you came back.”

Dorothea was merely concerned, and that was understandable, of course. Edelgard permitted a small, mirthless smile. “I am fine. Please, just do as I have asked.” It would make sense in time—yes, in time, but not now. So without sparing another moment, the emperor left her friend and returned to her quarters.

And once again, she made her way to her bed, pulled the satchel from beneath it, and for a time, she merely remained in place and looked at it.

How much longer could she delay the inevitable? How much longer could she bear to suffer this knowledge herself? How much longer could she listen to his cries in her head, his pleas for aid, for mercy, for salvation? How much longer could she bear the sight of his eyes, burned into her memory? 

The woman let her eyes fall closed and released a long breath, stifling those incessant thoughts. Not much longer. Her impatience was only growing. 

And so it did—for two days more did she bear her own mind’s insistence. Too long was she tarrying. By the third day, she had made up her mind—it would be then, that night. The day felt entirely too slow, as though it was dragging behind, purposefully delaying the arrival of her long-awaited machinations. 

The woman felt restless that day, could barely muster an unhurried word, could not stay still. She was listless. 

Too long. Too long. Too long.

Though the days were short in this endless winter, still they felt like an era—at least, that one did. And nothing that she did was a sufficient distraction. Her mind could not settle, her body could not rest; she felt like a madwoman, unable to find peace in her own skull. 

Her heart thumped and pounded against the prison it was confined in, knocking against the bones, anxious to break free. Even as she wrote the letter for her companion, her hand shook and her neat script became an inelegant scrawl of barely coherent words. 

Edelgard felt as though someone had plunged a dagger through her heart, and try as she might, she could not pull it free. It only dug further and further inside, lodged permanently within her, a painful, incessant trepidation. Her only consolation was that the past few days, the snows had ceased to litter the ground. No more had piled up than what had already been there, there was no better time than now to see this ambition through to its conclusion, whatever conclusion that may be. 

Alas, the day could not last for an eternity, and so, the timid sun, lost behind the haze of the thick grey blanket, descended for its slumber and in its place came the long awaited night. 

She played at her farce as best she could—took her dinner, sipped at her tea, allowed her quiet maid to dress her for the night and was then bid a fair slumber. No sooner had the silence settled like a fresh snow over her quarters did the woman spring from her bed and begin to hastily redress herself for her expedition.

As many layers as she could reasonably fit upon herself and still permit for movement, she threw on. She tied her hair into a swift braid and pulled a thick cloak over her shoulders, bending down to retrieve the satchel that had been waiting for this moment, just as she had. Before she made to leave the room, however, the woman paused and glanced at the surface beside the bed, catching sight of a silver glint. 

Without permitting herself to think too deeply, she took two strides and took the dagger, strapping it to her belt. 

Thus began her journey. 

Never had she imagined that she, a sovereign of an empire, would be forced to creep like some sort of ill-fated scoundrel through the halls of a palace in which she was a guest. Well, she supposed that this could be considered some sort of adventure—it was though a bit silly, more optimistic a thought than that of the reality. 

It was fortunate that the palace was so desolate. There was none to cross her path nor to halt her in her place, nor question why she had left her quarters. Thus her descent was rather smooth, not one blemish in her plan thus far. She pushed aside whatever trepidation was gnawing at the edges of her mind and once again resolved herself—her destination awaited her, and with every step, she drew nearer.

Soon.

That word seemed shackled to her skull, pulsing as though living itself as it resounded again and again.

Soon.

A threat, a promise, or a hope—it was currently indecipherable. But this word pulled her forth, aided her through the forlorn corridors and out to the stables. The night air was frigid and the snow crunched beneath her feet, swept away as best as it could have been, heaped to the sides of the path. 

The woman felt the chill begin to bite even after only a few moments of having borne the brunt of the wintry weather, and realized once more that this was a foolish endeavor. If the beast did not kill her then this cold may very well do so. No—she could not allow it to. She pushed the thought from mind and pulled her cloak tighter, scowling at the doubts that littered her head. 

She crept through the stables, stalking through the darkness until she came to a stall, pulling the gate open as quietly as she could. The stallion within huffed and stamped, perhaps irritated by the sudden intrusion, but she paid it no mind, briskly and efficiently strapping the saddle to its back, then securing her own satchel in place.

After a few moments of such toil, the woman pulled herself atop the stallion’s back and kicked her heels into its side, stirring the idle beast into motion. 

Her breath fell from her lips as a stone, heavy, weighted—and yet there seemed a surge of relief through her chest. She had done this much, she could surely see her scheme to fruition. And so she spurred her mount into a gallop, pressing on through the mounds of snow. The cold stung at her cheeks, sharp and furious, and she lamented having forgotten a scarf to tie around her face. With a curse, the woman pulled the cloak tighter, and as best she could, pulled the cloth up, burrowing her face into it. 

They raced through the palace gates and down the silent city streets, and she felt much like a spectre on her own—a solitary phantom streaking through the night. Solitary indeed—not a soul so much as whispered in the darkened world. Perhaps it truly was for that ever lingering fear of a beast so foul that kept the citizens locked within their homes, or perhaps, like any person of sound mind, they remained within and basked in the warmth of their hearths.

The image was certainly an inviting one, that of a burning fire, bright and hot, and had she chosen to let this matter aside, she may very have been curled up beside one now. Indeed, she could have chosen to ignore everything—disregard the hints, the clues, the mounting desperation. She could have turned her face away when he entered her dreams and pleaded for her help. Yet she had chosen to meet his eyes and listen. 

And because she had chosen to listen, she rode now alone through the barren streets, a blur of muted color. 

Alas, as the looming city gates came into her sight, she realized that they were closed. Disappointment stung at her mind, just briefly—but she did not allow it to linger. There must certainly be another way out. She quickly shifted directions, pointing her steed sideward, and rode into a different street, feverishly scouring the bits of her memories that she was still able to recall. 

She had wandered these streets before, someone had led her hand in hand, and they had showed her how to escape past the walls of the city. Yes—they had! And to her amazement, she found that she could just remember where that little nook had been. 

Like a guiding hand had once again taken ahold of hers, she found herself lost in a haze of reminiscence, struck by that faint familiarity. Refusing to allow such distraction to pull her from the significance of her self-imposed mission, she shook the daze away and focused her attention upon the furtively installed door fixed into place. With a sigh, the woman slid off her stallion and approached it, curling her fingers around a thick iron bar. With a grimace, she began to pull, cringing as the rusted, frozen iron released a furious squeal, ornery and barely willing to move. 

Many years had this door gone unheeded for it to have descended to such a poor condition. She grit her teeth and did not relent, shivering as the cold began to settle in her bones, disregarding the wretched high-pitched shriek as the frigid hinges did their work. The iron scraped against the stone, stubbornly insisting on remaining rooted in place, but after no small amount of effort, the woman gave one final heave and the gate swung open.

Panting, Edelgard swept a hand across her brows, glancing at her waiting mount. The stallion’s ears flicked back and it nickered as though laughing at her. She scoffed and shook her head, forcing her stiff legs to carry her back. Mounting was not so easy this time as it had been then, but nevertheless, she managed to climb atop the beast and spur him forth.

As they traveled through the opening, Edelgard was greeted with a sprawling field of pristine, untouched snow. Had she been grounded, it might have reached to her waist—even so, it would not be easy even for her sturdy steed to force his way through the frozen plain. With a quiet sigh, the woman patted the horse’s neck. It had to be done regardless. 

It would last only to the threshold of the wood anyway—there the snow would be thinner for cause of the thick boughs that obscured the ground. And then…

And then what? 

Was she to wander the wood aimlessly, hoping that she might chance upon the beast’s lair, or wait until it had hunted her and torn out her throat? The cold may very well have taken her by then. Ah, that these dilemmas would occur to her now. Well, no, they were hardly new thoughts—but thoughts that she had willfully pushed aside. 

She would find him. That was what she had told herself then, and again she consoled herself this way. One way or another, they would meet this night. 

The woman huddled together, bending over her steed as it forced its way through white nuisance, rubbing her gloved hands together in an effort to keep them from freezing within the confines of the thick fabric. There was naught else to do as she furled into herself, so her mind turned again to ruminations. She could not help but wonder at how they would meet, whether he would recognize her, whether he could truly speak in this form at all. And what if he could not?

That was a valid concern, she supposed, but…she was almost certain that she had heard him speak before—her name, specifically. He had in her dream, and perhaps that moment had been a figment of her addled mind as well. If that was so, then did she confuse the reality with her nightly visitations? If she came upon him and he truly could make no noise but visceral groans and growls, what then? How could she possibly hope to communicate with him?

Edelgard groaned and lowered her head, resting her forehead against the steed’s neck, biting her tongue. If she gave herself but one moment of distraction, then it seemed that doubts would settle in and disturb her tentative confidence. Or perhaps those doubts should have been welcomed, so that rather than dwell in an idealistic assurance of what she hoped would happen, be cognizant as to possibilities of what might truly occur. 

After a few moments spent in this tense position, the woman released a breath and straightened again, raising her eyes heavenward. There was but a brief sliver sliced from the thick smear of clouds—and through that break poured through a solitary light. Cold and lonesome, and the world looked only bleaker beneath its doleful glow. 

Her breath puffed in a mist as another sigh escaped her lips, and the woman lowered her head, fixing her gaze towards the wood. It looked vastly disparate now in the darkness; foreboding, threatening, almost. There seemed to hang about its entry a luminous fog, warding away those that would approach. 

A rueful smile twisted her lips. Well, she was not deterred, nor would she be by the slightest whisper of a breeze, or by the snapping of a twig. 

The time seemed to have slowed to a leisurely amble, every second spent in that wretched, miserable cold seemed more akin to an hour. She was only grateful that the night was one that was windless—it would only be that much worse to suffer a biting gale. 

Alas, as her stolid mount ploughed through the heaps of fallen flakes, she saw indeed that it had begun to taper off the nearer they trekked to the woods’ threshold. Soon enough, the blanket was only high enough to reach her knees, and the stallion easily pushed free of its frigid embrace.

At long last, they left behind the undisturbed field and ventured through the doors to the black abyss. What light there had been upon the plain seemed completely swallowed by the canopy of overburdened branches that were suspended overhead. Only the barest slivers of light could pierce through their knitted shrouds. 

She did not fear the dark. 

Right then, there was no use in tarrying. The woman did not look behind as she nudged her mount forth, focusing her gaze on the path ahead. As they began their trek once more, they disrupted the stifling silence. Though the snow offered some padding, the stallion’s hooves still stomped through the layer and disturbed the ground beneath. It made no difference to her whether they were noiseless; there was naught to fear in this forested prison than the one inmate, and the sooner they met, the better.

She urged the stallion onward, quickening his pace, and they delved into the pitch dark, the light dwindling completely the further into the wood they descended. 

The woman shivered, releasing the reins to tug the cloth of her cloak tighter around herself, scowling. Indeed, this cold would kill her much more quickly than would her quarry. How did these northerners withstand such winters? Well, a foolish query. Undoubtedly they did not go traipsing about in the dunnest hours of night and remained in their warm beds.

Edelgard wondered whether she had lost some grip on her sanity since having arrived in this accursed, desolate, frozen wasteland. Oh, she certainly must have. A mere few months prior, she would have scoffed at herself for attempting so foolish an endeavor, for even daring to believe what she now thought of as a certainty. 

But she had been that woman—and still she had fallen into this trance of sentimentality and fantastical belief. That meant that somewhere deep, deep within her, in the very pits of her heart there still remained a woman—or a girl, that believed in hopeful things. A girl that still knew what it mean to smile, laugh, daydream. 

Perhaps…one day, after all was said and done, she could become that girl again. Perhaps, one day, she could learn to laugh again, and perhaps—just perhaps…she could look into those eyes again, unfettered by madness or grief, but clear and mirthful, and see him smile back.

She closed her eyes and jerked her head in a curt shake. It was far too soon to consider such naïve things. She knew well it was not going to be so simple—nothing had been thus far. It seemed that every shadow brought to light had within it an even darker hole—and it all spiraled into an endless abyss of deception and ill fates.

The stallion snorted suddenly, pulling her from her reverie. The emperor raised her head and glanced about, not expecting to see much in the thick haze of darkness that had devoured the world. Indeed, even though she had acclimated to the lack of light, she saw nothing but the vague outlines of the silent sentries that surrounded them. Neither did she hear any noise that would indicate a presence other than her own. Not that it would have been much of a help regardless. Before, the beast had caught them by surprised—it had been the horses to realize its presence then.

Edelgard looked at her steed and sighed, stroking her hand along its neck. “Well, I suppose I shall leave it to you then.” She murmured, shuddering as a breath of cold swept against her skin. Hurriedly, she pulled the hood farther down her head, restless. She found herself rather tempted to yell, to simply shout her presence, to wake the so-called beast. A poor idea. 

So silent she remained, and watchful. Further and further into the depths they wandered, time ticking by. If not for the lingering dread that had been building in her heart since her arrival, the entire voyage would have been entirely dull, monotonous—like nothing more than a midnight stroll. Alas, if only it were so. Yet she remained on her guard, listless and wary, knowing that truly, at any moment the creature might leap out and knock her from her mount.

Perhaps he was already stalking them, a silent predator lurking in the darkness, just out of reach. The thought sent a shudder down her spine. Undeniably, that was unnerving. 

Her hand traveled down her side until she felt a firm resistance, and she curled her fingers about the dagger at her side, simply holding on to it. She would have felt more at ease had it been Aymr at her side and not this tiny blade; she doubted it would be able to pierce the beast’s hide. She also truly hoped that it would not come to violence. She had no desire to make that monster her opponent, not after what she had been witness to—not after having almost died at his hands already. 

The woman swallowed thickly and forced such ideas from her mind. Truly, one’s own mind could be the most nefarious of villains. 

Edelgard took a breath, the air stinging her throat as she gulped it down, sharp and cold, but it did well to shake the rising weariness from her mind. How long had it been? She could not tell. There was no way to tell, not from this abyss. It seemed a disparate realm entirely, detached from the world outside. It had felt like quite a while, but that was a matter of its own and certainly not a way to discern whether it really had been. What did it matter, anyway? 

She turned her head and scoured the area behind her—the forest entrance had been long abandoned. There was naught but shadows to greet her. With a click of her teeth, the woman spurred her mount to move faster, a vague sense of unease swelling in her chest. 

The silence was oppressive. It was far too loud. It was stagnant and noisy and filled her ears. Her heart began to pound, pulsing in her chest manically, pounding, pounding. This place, so vast and sprawling, seemed too tight, too narrow, too constricting.

The stallion’s stamping hooves, the brisk crackling of fallen branches beneath his weight, her own quiet puffs of air. The incessant throbbing of her heart. This place felt foul. The very air seemed thick and poisonous, and the farther they tread, the worse her sudden trepidation grew. She could not even fathom why she had become so anxious, why this sudden terror had befallen her—as though her body realized the danger before her mind had begun to comprehend it. 

The hood flew from her head and her cloak streamed behind her, but the woman did not heed it. She felt nothing, heard nothing but her own heart shuddering behind its cage.

Her steed suddenly reared up, and the woman could only just grab hold of the reins, grimacing as the stallion tossed his head and released a loud shriek. The animal stamped his hooves and did not take a single step further. No matter how she prodded or kicked, the stallion remained rooted in place.

With a growl of frustration, the woman slid off the ornery horse and removed her satchel from its place, walking forward to pull the animal by its reins. He resisted with all his might, and so after a few moments of attempting to force him forward, the woman huffed an irritable breath and left him be, taking a second to secure his reins to a sturdy branch. 

She supposed there was only one reason for her stalwart steed to have so vehemently refused continuing forth. They were near.

As she raised her head and examined her surroundings, she found that they had traveled to the very edge of a grove—a clearing and a bluff—a steep, sharp rise made entirely of stone. It was a rather wide space, she noted, taking a step towards it. The trees formed a neat circle about the empty space, but…

Her head cocked to the side some as she approached, stepping onto the expanse of fallen snow. There were strange, jagged peaks jutting out here and there—some very long, others barely peeking out. The woman raised her head, glad to see the moon’s return. There was just enough light to see by in this place, a welcome reprieve from the ceaseless pitch she had been riding through. 

She disregarded her frantically beating heart as best she could and emboldened herself, striding out into the center of the frozen clearing, pushing through the deep ocean of white. Shivering and shaking as the cold began to set in, the woman began to thrust aside the snow, digging to uncover that which had caught her attention. 

It took only a few moments to see what it had been. A sword. It was a sword thrust into the earth. 

Edelgard felt her brows furrowed, somewhat perplexed, and turned her head, hurrying towards the next similar peak. Once again she burrowed into the drift and uncovered another weapon; another blade. And again, to the next—a half-broken spear, and then the head of an axe. There were countless, it seemed, all dotting the otherwise pristine field. All arms of war—and yet, if this had been another place of slaughter, should they not have been strewn about in chaos?

It seemed almost as though they had been arranged this way purposefully, as though in… memorial.

Her eyes widened and the woman found herself staggering away, her breath stolen from her lungs. 

In that silent expanse, beneath the lone moon’s azure glow, a gentle sprinkling of white flakes drifting from the whispering breeze, she realized. Each one of those stoic weapons had once been a life—had belonged to a soul, cut down before their time. This was a graveyard. 

Of course—how could she not have noticed—they were aligned in rows, with precision, not scattered haphazardly as she had first thought. Remorse. This place was an image of remorse, of reverence and grief. 

She skimmed a finger down the hilt of the blade before her, her lips pressing together. There was none other than would venture into these woods simply to gather the belongings of the deceased and prepare such an arrangement for them. None other than he who had taken their lives to begin with. Her heart felt as though it had been strangled by a wire, a surge of despair swelling in her chest. That beast, the nameless creature whom everyone so despised and feared…had within him a human soul. 

She released a breath and straightened, stepping away from the makeshift gravestone, her eyes flitting upwards—and at once, the woman froze. Her heart seemed to drop to the soles of her feet, her breath like ice in her straining lungs. There was a shadow. A shadow looming over her. 

Her eyes grew wide and she felt herself begin to quiver. Silent. It had been utterly silent. A choked breath stumbled from her lips and she forced her feet to shift, feeling as though she had been rooted to the earth, as though suddenly her body had been forced to stone, heavy and impossible to move.

Her mind urged her to move, to do anything, but she could not take her eyes from their place. She stared at that hulking shadow, utterly terrified, just as she had been before. Why had she expected that it would be different? 

The strained moment seemed like an eternity, but at last, Edelgard managed a strangled sound and whirled around, staggering back. No words could fall from her lips as she clambered away, feeling at once like no more than cornered prey before a predator. Her fingers groped her side, again and again, until they curled about the slender hilt. Though it would do naught against the monstrous form before her, she held it in front of her, her hand shaking.

The beast. It had come. 

It stood there, not a meter distant, and merely stared—as though made of stone itself. The woman felt tears prick at her eyes, gasping for breath, almost unheeding of the unholy chill that began to spread through her legs, her back, as the snow began to seep into her garments. 

She had been lost in a trance, locked in an agonizing state of paralysis though her mind raged and shouted at her to wake, to realize herself, to remember what she had come for. But how could she? The creature towered over her, hideous and wretched, warped beyond recognition. And when it began to lumber forward, the woman felt a cry tear from her throat, tears like molten fire trickling down her frigid cheeks.

Step by step, the monstrous figure loomed nearer, a low growl rumbling form its twisted maw. She could not see its eyes. 

Her hand shook and the woman could not move, utterly transfixed, her heart prepared to leap from her chest and burst. 

Something like a word tumbled incoherently from her numbed tongue, almost silent—a mere breath. And still the beast crept closer, closer—and Edelgard swallowed, shutting her eyes, biting her tongue to the point of pain. 

“Dim—,” She tried to breathe, forcing the word to scrape past her lips, but still it was no more than a murmur, and the beast was almost upon her, opening his gaping maw to snarl. The dagger dropped from her hands and the woman remembered her dream. As though the strength had suddenly fled her form, the woman fell back, still, unmoving as the beast loomed above her frail figure, a smile twisting at her chapped, frosted lips. “Dimitri.” She forced herself to say, though still quivering in terror, 

“Dimitri.” Edelgard said again, stronger, peering at the warped face above her own. The beast had gone still. “Dimitri.” As though it were a magic word that could break the curse, she repeated the word, the name, returning it to him—it had been stolen many years ago. 

The beast whined, she heard the sound, low and pathetic, and began to back away. She watched, half in fear, half in awe as the monster stood, grasping at its own head, whimpering and snarling. It staggered back, tossing its head as though in agony, a howl bursting from its chest, long and anguished. 

The woman held her breath and slowly pushed herself up, watching as the man fought to regain his identity, as the beast fought to retain his. “Dimitri!” She shouted again, startling as the creature released another vicious howl and fell to his knees, panting. 

She did not dare to approach, even as the fit seemed to conclude, as the thrashing subsided and the beast grew still. Swallowing thickly, the emperor bent to retrieve her dagger, keeping a tight hold of it, warily inspecting the hulking form. “Dimitri?” The woman took a step, cautiously making for the creature. 

A low groan seemed to thrum through the grove, echoing through the night, and then, a strange half-voice, half-strangled growl. “ _Leave _.”__

____

__

The woman almost choked on her breath—he could speak. He could speak! She had not merely dreamt it, he could truly communicate. Relief seemed to sweep through her form and the woman nearly collapsed, steadying herself against the trunk of a tree, closing her eyes. Then it was true—all of it. The woman’s words had all been fabricated lies—everything was a tangled web of deceit and betrayal. 

“No.” Edelgard opened her eyes and looked at the beast-man, taking a breath to further compose herself. “I will not. I came all this way to find you.” 

“ _Leave _!” He snarled again in that strange guttural voice, slamming his fist against the ground—and to her amazement, the ground shook. “ _Unless…you...want to die _.” Every word seemed barely a word but more a visceral sound, as though two voices had become one.____

_____ _

_____ _

“I have no desire to depart this world so soon.” The woman steeled herself and pushed away from the tree, steadily making her way to the prince. “You did not kill me before, I doubt you will do so now, more so now that I have realized who you are, crown prince, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.” 

At last, the creature raised his head and peered at her, his horrifying visage illuminated by the moon’s cold rays. Indeed, no one that had dared to look upon this revolting countenance would have believed that it had once belonged to a man. “ _What do you want _?”__

____

____

Her eyes furrowed and Edelgard gingerly extended a hand, biting her lip. Slowly, she pulled off the glove and tucked it into her side, and carefully, she rested her palm against his face. The beast flinched away, as though the very idea of warmth or contact was utterly foreign. “I want to help you.” She heard herself say, her heart twisting inside her chest as the beast slunk away, watching her as warily as she had watched him. “I want to know what happened—what truly happened.”

“ _Do not squander your time _.” The creature bit out, tossing his great head from side to side, his mane limply fluttering with the motion. “ _And go…before I…lose myself _.” It seemed that his voice had grown strained and he put a greater distance between them, acting now more like a wounded animal.____

_____ _

_____ _

Edelgard raised a hand to swipe at the frozen tears that had stuck to her skin and sniffled quietly, clearing her throat. “You cannot presume to tell me how I should spend my time.” She declared haughtily, reassuming her imperial persona, refusing to remain afeared. “That you are still capable of speaking with me as a man tells me that hope is not yet lost.”  
The woman sheathed the dagger once again and turned to face the beast, sighing, and she shook her head.

The beastly prince turned his face away, hiding in the shadow of the tree line. “ _There is no hope _.”__

____

____

“You speak too soon.” She refuted quickly, stepping closer—but as soon as she did, the creature bristled, snarling and sending his arm flying into the trunk of the tree beside him. The wood splintered and cracked beneath the force, startling even her. 

“ _Five years _!” The creature roared, rising to its hind legs, standing again like a man. “ _Five years in this accursed form, forced to slaughter my countrymen and feed on their flesh! Five years forced to battle the urge to tear apart living flesh to satiate a hunger that can never be satisfied! **Too bloody soon! ** _”_****___

__****__** ** _ _

__****__** ** _ _

His howled fury echoed through the wood, and beneath the force of his wrath, the woman once again found herself shrinking away, terrified despite her prior resolve. She forced herself to breathe, struggling to keep from quaking. Very well; a poor choice of words. Very poor. She composed herself, pretending as though her legs were not trembling. “Tell me what happened.” She said again, narrowing her eyes at the seething creature. “We can determine together—,”

“ _Leave this place. Do not return _.” The beast snarled again—and before she could protest, he turned away and leapt into the darkness, disappearing from her sight.__

____

____

She stared after him, astonished and bewildered. She did not know what to make of what had happened, did not know what to think. The woman closed her eyes and released a long breath, finally allowing her strength to fail. Edelgard collapsed into the snow, shivering now that the cold had finally begun to register in her mind again. She was yet alive.

She had met the beast, and she was yet still alive. 

Her brows crinkled as she forced herself up once more, brushing the powdery white dust from her cloak. He had not wanted to speak with her. No, not at all. She had not known what to expect, but that had certainly not been what she had been hoping for. 

The woman sighed and trudged back into the wood, searching for her mount. The stallion was right where she had left him, stamping impatiently at the ground. Her thoughts were all misplaced as she loosened the ropes and began to pull the animal back into the clearing, intent on finding somewhere to sleep for the night. Indeed—she was not going to return, not until she met him again and pulled the truth of his story from his tongue. 

The woman made her way to the stone bluff, walking alongside it, thoughtful. Regardless of what had happened, she did not regret having come here. She did not regret having confirmed her suspicions. 

She shifted the satchel on her back and raised her hand to soothe the restless stallion, feeling far more secure now that she knew that the beast was not likely to spring upon her in the night and rend her limb from limb. He had left presumably to avoid doing that very thing. 

As she walked, she held her palm against the stone face, and to her fortune, after some time the stone gave way. She paused, turning to face the sudden disappearance, extending a hand to grope at what should have been a solid surface. There was nothing there. Whatever disdain she had previously held for the goddess, Edelgard could not but murmur a blessing in her name. 

Holding her hand before her, the woman walked forward, a breath of relief dripping from her lips as she confirmed that indeed, she had found a cave. It was not too deep and extended only a few meters into the wall, but it was more than she could have hoped for. The woman dropped her satchel and raised her arms, rubbing her own shoulders to ward off the growing stiffness. Fire. First and foremost, to last through this bitter frost, she needed fire. 

Edelgard secured the stallion once again and left her newfound shelter to collect some wood. Wet or not, it would not be too difficult to set it alight with a spell. Indeed, though she could not claim to be proficient in the skill, she could muster a few weak spells, fire being one of them. It was fortunate that she had listened to Hubert in that regard; it was a vastly useful skill to have, and in this case, would probably aid her in surviving the night. 

As she strayed a short distance from her shelter, the woman began to think of the morrow, wondering if he would avoid her. He certainly seemed intent on doing so. Well, she would not let him. And of course, aside from that, she could not forget that she still needed to find Aymr. Sothis knew where the horse carrying her axe had disappeared to…or even whether it was still living. By the looks of it, it would not be at all surprising to find that he had eaten it. 

In that case—he should know where it was—and the prince should likewise know what it was, the importance of it. Another reason that added to her urgency in finding once more.

The woman returned to her shelter with an armful of branches, shaking and shivering as the cold began to stiffen her fingers and limbs. She arranged the pile of frigid sticks into something resembling a suitable structure, aching to hurry and set it alight. She pulled off her gloves once more and held her hands over the stack she had compiled, murmuring the incantation. A burst of warm light hissed into existence, sparking as it made contact. She held the spell until she saw the wood catch, now more grateful than ever that she had managed to learn it, at the very least. 

As her little fire began to grow, the woman released a sigh and set her dampened gloves in front of it, content to let them dry. Glumly, she reached for her satchel and pulled free the extra blanket she had taken, setting it over the ground as extra insulation. She curled herself together tightly and sidled a little closer to her growing fire, resting her chin atop her knees, merely peering at the dancing flames. 

Her spirits were low despite what had happened. She could not help but be disappointed even though she knew that it was unfair of her to be so. He had every right to be wary and on his guard, he had every right to have lost hope. It surely must have been a trial unlike any other, one unfathomable to her. His mind…had suffered through these years—that was apparent enough to her. What a cruel, vicious curse this was that had taken hold of his form. It would have been kinder to strip him of his consciousness entirely rather than to have kept him coherent and cognizant of the terror he wreaked through his own land.

She raised her hand and splayed her fingers, staring distractedly at them. His home was just at his fingertips, and yet inaccessible. How utterly despicable. Her brows furrowed and her fingers curled into a tight fist. What had been done could be undone—it had to be so. It must be so! If not…then why had she come all this way? Why had she sought him, dreamt of him? Why had Sothis permitted them to meet, her to remember? 

Unless that goddess was simply that cruel. To tease a future that could never come to be. 

The woman’s countenance grew doleful and she lowered her head, allowing her eyes to fall shut. To give up hope now…no, she could not. He might have, but she would not. She had sworn an oath, had she not? 

And it was that oath that tumbled through her dimming mind as sleep began to claim her consciousness. 

But slumber did not claim her long. Or, rather, it had not felt long at all. In fact, it had felt as though she had merely blinked—but when the woman next opened her eyes, the wood had turned to charcoal and there was naught left of the fire but a tendril of waning smoke. The world was no longer formed of pitch darkness, but a pale light broke through the cave’s entry.

Edelgard squinted, achingly pushing her sore body from its unnatural resting place. The stone had been cold and rigid and she was certain that there were bruises and scrapes to show for her restless night. By Sothis, that was an experience she could do without reliving again. 

A yawn split her lips and she pushed her hair from her face, the braid having come unplaited mid the night, and the white strands hung limply, tangling down her shoulders. With a frown, she stood, stretching and shaking out the tired locks, lumbering towards the light. 

Her eyes flicked to and fro as she surveyed the scape, taking in the sight that had been naught but blackness afore. Trees and their snow-laden branches swept her vision, every which way they stood like towering giants. A sigh dripped from between her lips as she straightened her cloak, her gaze descending to the snow beneath her, and she froze, staring at the suddenly very visible tracks that had marred the undisturbed drifts. They were not hers, neither the stallion’s.

They were deep, dragging grooves that both came from, and led an entirely different direction than the one she had come. 

She snapped her head to the side, sharply looking about—but there was naught but herself. He had come then. He had come mid the night—and left without harming her. And more importantly, he had left a trail for her to follow. She would no longer blindly wander through the woods, hoping for a chance encounter. Purposeful or not, he had shown her exactly where to go. 

Suddenly invigorated, the woman hurried back to her cave and set her steed free, pausing only to pluck a loaf of bread from her satchel and replace the blanket, eager to set out once again. 

She stuck the frozen bread into her mouth and saddled her mount once more, nudging him into action. The trail was not at all difficult to follow, and so she did, her heart once again beginning to pound, though less in fear than in anticipation. Did he simply roam the woods day to day end, or did he have a place in which he took shelter as well? Perhaps this was where that path led—to his den, home—whichever word fit better. If so, then all the better, she would know how to find him again, assuming she was able to leave the woods, firstly. 

She swallowed the thick, hardened pieces, tearing off chunks at a time, satisfying the discomfort in her belly. When had she last feasted? Quite some time ago—the day prior. Alas, now she was glad to have thought of bringing with her some form of sustenance, meager as the rations might be. 

Edelgard could not but wonder, as she rode, why the beast-prince had come seeking her mid the night. Had he been himself? Or had it been the beast that had been hunting her—and if that had been so, then surely he must have come to his senses, otherwise she would not have woken so pleasantly—well, pleasant in comparison to the ruin he would have made of her mortal shell. Truly, there seemed no other likely explanation, and as such, it made for a harrowing thought. Perhaps she might have heeded him after all.

No—she could not permit herself to think thus. 

Even if that had been the case, he had not harmed her; he was still able to regain his cognizance. 

Something drifted across her vision, a streak of white lazily tumbling from above. The woman paused her thought, her gaze flitting upward. She reined in her stallion, her eyes locked heavenward. She had thought, or hoped rather, that it had been snow blown off of a branch, but to her utter horror, it was not. It was once again beginning to snow—and indeed, the gentle flakes began to drift down in a flurry. 

Edelgard cursed and turned her steed, following the tracks once again. The last thing she needed was yet another day-long, ceaseless blizzard. 

Well, regardless of her wishes, it seemed that the goddess wished to toy with her. In seemingly minutes, the clear day had become a silver storm. More than simple snow, there began to rage a vicious, howling gale. It tore at her cloak and grasped at her hair, tossing the burdened branches and heaving the snow piled atop them outward. 

She had never before feared the weather, but now it came to be that she was quite terrified. There was nowhere left to go—she had no choice now but to resume her current path and hope beyond hope that he would not turn her away again. If he did, then she would be lost and undoubtedly freeze solid. A pitiful end for the empire’s sovereign. 

And, she thought to herself rather scathingly, she would haunt that accursed man and never give him a moment of peace.

The woman pulled at her hood, struggling to keep it over her head, but in vain. The winds were far stronger than she, and they were full of rage. What had she done to earn the goddess’ ire? Perhaps her years of disdain had led to this moment, one final, cruel irony. 

Indeed the cold seemed vengeful; it was frigid to the point of numbing her fingers even in the confines of the gloves she had slipped them into. The layers she had donned seemed insufficient—it felt as though she had gone out in nothing but a slip of a night-gown. Her cheeks were frosted, her lips chapped and her teeth chattering, the woman could only just keep hold of the reins and remain steadfast. 

No amount of resolve nor tenacity could aid her in withstanding such sudden fury, however. She was powerless against nature’s might, and mighty it truly was. She felt that if she but released her grip just the slightest, the wind would pull her from the saddle and toss her away. 

Curse after curse sprang from her leaden tongue as she realized that the flurry had gotten so thick, even the deep tracks that he had left behind were getting swept to and fro—they were less visible—everything was less visible. It seemed she could not see two meters ahead!

Desperation unlike one that she had known before began to fill her heart and the woman raised her head, her lilac eyes wide and fearful. This was a different fear than that which filled one’s spirit as they gazed at something horrific, but a tight and strained hopelessness—knowing that they were truly helpless. 

At last, she could no longer suffer the raging storm, and so she opened her lips and cried out. “Dimitri!” The word was swallowed at once, stifled by the blizzard’s wrath, cut to shreds between the gales. The confidence that she had mustered only that morn seemed torn to tatters—and nothing seemed left of her but a wailing little girl; the very girl that had been locked in her heart and tucked away since she had taken the role of the empire’s heiress. She was not permitted to know fear. Now it was all she could recognize.

“Dimitri!” She shrieked again, her own voice strained and thin, all too feeble. The cold surrounded her, enveloped her in a tight, constricting embrace. Her body burned and fought against the ice that began to creep through, but she could only last so long. 

They were going to get buried here—her and her stolid mount both. 

No matter how well she had thought to prepare, one could not make battle with such fury. 

“Please…” Her voice drifted from between trembling lips and the woman wrapped her arms around herself, quivering. 

As she huddled atop her shrieking stallion, she saw his eyes once more. Smiling and blue, filled with light and warmth. She had wanted to see them again—unclouded, wanted to see his face. Wanted to hear him call her by that intimate name. Just once more.

She had not imagined it like this, her passing. Stranded, solitary, helpless. One fragile woman lost in such a storm. At the very least, she would not go with her head bowed. 

And so she raised it, forced to squint as the wind lashed wildly at her face. It was a fortunate thing that she had. Had she remained pitifully bent, wallowing in depreciation and bitterness, she would not have seen him. 

Her heart leapt to her throat and the woman nearly choked on her own breath, stricken by the sight of a great, hulking form leaping through the frozen flurries, tearing through the white haze. She truly might have wept of relief then, but after a moment it became apparent that the beast had no intention of stopping. It looked as though he was—charging at her.

Edelgard’s relief turned to dust and instead horror wrought her chest. The woman kicked the stallion’s side, urging him to quickly turn, but she had not been quick enough. Before the cry could even scrape past her throat, something unbearably heavy knocked her from her place, and the woman could barely muster a breath as she fell, tumbling into the frigid abyss. At least it provided some cushioning, otherwise she might have been felled entirely.

She scrambled up as swiftly as she could, barely able to gather herself as the window howled at her back, threatening to push her down. 

Panting, weakened, the woman could only just keep her feet, holding her arm extended before her as though it was some sort of barrier as he—the beast prowled just a short distance away, gnashing his teeth. Once more, in the light of day, she was reminded of just how hideous, how enormous he really was. 

Her cloak billowed, gripped by the wind and pulled by that angry hand, torn from her person. She could not keep it at her side, could not cover herself with it, and so her body was bared to the full vicious gales, the incessant frigid flurries that rained from the heavens. Her shoulder ached where the beast had barreled into it, a sharp, stinging pain and a cold dampness that stuck to her innermost tunic. His claws—his claws had dug in. 

“Dimitri!” She shouted again, seeing no other option, and began to trudge through the mounting snow towards the beast. “Please, Dimitri—help me!” Her voice seemed entirely devoured, nothing more than a feeble cry, though her throat ached and burned with the effort. “Dimitri!” The woman stumbled on a root hidden deep below the white and fell, shivering, her last strength departing her form. 

She could not even muster the strength to weep, nor fear. The young emperor sagged, her eyes falling closed, vaguely conscious of the damp seeping into her garments. Memories danced behind her eyelids, memories of a childhood that had once seemed so distant and unfamiliar. Memories of a little girl with caramel hair and eyes like lilacs and a smile that was as warm as a hearth. Memories of a hand twined with her own, and of eyes so blue they could have rivaled the very sky itself. Memories of a kind voice saying her name.

“El.” 

The name only one had ever dared to give her. A kind, sweet name that tasted like honey, like light, like a precious companionship that had once existed in a time far, far gone. 

“El.”

A name she had abandoned, a past she had abandoned—the girl she had abandoned. 

“ _EL _!”__

____

____

Her eyes snapped open and the woman heaved a shuddering gasp, her mind fogged and dazed, her body limp and numb, sagging—and yet suspended above the ground. 

“ _Stay awake _.” A gruff growl rumbled through her frame, and she felt herself sway.__

____

____

Disoriented and confused, the young emperor could not focus her bleary vision; she saw naught but long smears of white and swatches of darker hues. She could not stop shivering, nestling closer to the warmth pulsing against her—sturdy and strangely soft. “Dim…?” The name slipped from her tongue and the woman forced her head up, peering at a dark form above her own. “You came.” She sighed, releasing whatever tension had flooded her body. 

She felt like a newborn babe, swaddled in cloth, pressed to a mother’s bosom. But the truth was not nearly so pleasant. A grown woman in a sodden, frozen cloak, near to death and carried in the arms of a wretched, foul creature—one that at any moment may lose his sensibilities and decide again that she was mere flesh. A riveting reality. 

Stay awake, he had said, but staying awake was proving quite the difficulty. Edelgard fought the rising urge to close her eyes and likewise, keep them closed. It was a tremendous effort to resist that lulling pull into slumber—but a slumber that she would not wake from. 

Where were they? She could not tell; it all looked the same. Snow and trees and nothing more. Yet he seemed to know where he was going. The beast loped on through the wrathful storm, barely fazed by the wind, the icy pelting snow. It seemed his strength was good for more than pure slaughter, and in this scathing cold, his warped form indeed may have been called a blessing. Surely a thick hide and coarse fur would have given a greater relief than whatever garments she could don.

She squeezed shut her eyes and coiled her fingers, grasping at a tuft of mottled fur, heaving a weary breath. He was still in there. She had known, of course, but he had simply proved it again. A man still lived inside that beastly figure, and that man had saved her. It was only right that she repay that debt. 

Yes, she would…she would return this favor and bring him…

The lids above her eyes once more began to feel weighted, like anchors dragged to the bottom of a river. Her head felt light and her mind seemed unable to hold its thought. Awake. Awake, she told herself, stay awake. Yet the slumber drifting just beyond her conscious thought seemed so tantalizing—that she could leave this mess behind and find solace in her dreams. She could meet him there too.

She had already met him there—and she wanted to go back to that sweet, illusory world wherein the light had shone warm and bright, where birds had lilted their lovely songs, where she could smile and laugh and know what it meant to live a carefree life, unburdened by the toil of her station. In those dreams, she could see his face, could hear his soft voice, could see his blue, blue eyes. 

He seemed only a breath away—close, so closer, yet distant—waiting on a shore opposite her own. She need only step over to him—

She gasped, her body sharply jerking back and forth, and her addled mind could not make sense of it—not until the motion ceased and she realized that she was still living, still awake. And still bitterly cold. The warmth of her illusion faded and the light she had seen was distant—a cold, white light that shone at the end of a dark, pitch dark tunnel. An opening beyond which the world howled its fury. She blinked, snapping her head to and fro as she tried to comprehend what had occurred.

“ _I told you to leave _.”__

____

____

The guttural voice, low and harsh, echoed through the enclosed darkness, and Edelgard could only just make out the outline of an enormous form a distance from her. She tried to rise, but found that she could not—that upon her body had been heaped layers of cloth, or what felt like cloth. Beneath her as well was not cold stone but a lumpy, somewhat firm cushioning. She had been cocooned inside like a nesting doll. 

With some effort, the woman grimaced and pulled free her arm, pushing away at the strange covering, her nose crinkling at the smell—musty and old, and there even seemed a tinge of iron to the odor. Deciding to think better of ruminating upon what these things had been, the woman cleared her throat and sat up, squinting into the shadow at where the beast seemed to be. “In my defense, I could not possibly have known that the weather would turn against me so suddenly. Maybe I had tried to leave.”

A sound like a huff of irritation met her ears. “ _You were following me _.” The creature growled, and yes, she supposed that it had been fairly obvious that she had been pursuing him.__

____

____

“You left me a trail.” The woman refuted, a shudder wracking her body. She clamped her teeth together before they could begin to chatter and began to arrange the cloth he had provided about herself in a sort of nest. “Regardless, I am stranded here now—and this is…” She paused, glancing about the darkened crevice in which they had taken shelter in. “Your home?”

“ _Home _?” An ugly sound that might have been a humorless laugh bounded through the cavernous space.__

____

____

She bit her lip and felt her brows furrow. Right—a poor choice of words, once again. “Where is my horse?” Edelgard inquired, recalling from her bits of hazy memories, he had carried her alone. 

“ _Consider it your tribute _.”__

____

____

“You mean to eat it?” An unwitting, affronted gasp split apart her lips. She truly should not have been surprised though, and to some extent, she could not argue.

“ _Would you rather I devour you _?” Upon hearing that, she really found no fault at all in his having chosen the stallion…but it was still vexing to hear. “ _Winters are cruel. Prey is scarce. If I do not seek sustenance myself…then hunger will drive me to do so whether I wish to or not _.”____

_____ _

_____ _

The way in which he spoke was remarkably similar to herself. She might have expected him to speak in short, barely coherent phrases, but instead he seemed to retain his literate mind quite well. All the more she was convinced that hope was not lost in retrieving his prior form. “I noticed—you did not, ah, devour the men.” 

A silence stretched following her subtle query, and she wondered if she had said something she should not have. She seemed to do that quite frequently—but then, she hardly knew how to interact with a man that had become a feral beast and had lived as such for years. After some time, however, another heavy sound drifted through the air.

“ _I am able to restrain my…myself…sometimes _.” It felt odd to hear such eloquence voiced by so rough and visceral a voice.__

____

____

Edelgard turned her head towards the light, sighing faintly. “Why did you come to me?” She heard herself say, her brows knitting. “If you had not wanted to be found, then why did you find me?” It was a fair question. The woman looked back at the darkness, irked that she could see naught. “And stop hiding. Do you think I will swoon at the sight of you? Come out of the shadow and let me see you.”

She narrowed her eyes and waited, her gaze fixed upon the motionless figure. Perhaps she should have felt a great deal more of wariness, being caught alone in this place with a beast of unstable mind. Alas, she had suffered enough fear to last herself a lifetime; she did not want to cower any longer. 

After a period of silence, disturbed only by the quiet puffs of air that bounced about the cavern, the dark figure stirred. She watched as he slunk forward on all fours, creeping from out of the darkness. He approached her as would a mistrusting, stray feline that had been offered a comforting hand. 

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and shook her head, huffing irritably. “The way you act, one might think that you fear me.” 

The creature tossed his head, a breath puffing from his maw. “ _The way you act, one might think you are unafraid of me _.”__

____

____

“Well, I suppose that is so.” Edelgard acknowledged with a faint nod, cocking her head as she examined the creature—closer than she had been allowed before. “You are much less terrifying when you are docile.” 

He turned his head and met her gaze, his eyes seeming to have an almost otherworldly glow to them as they peered at her from between the ragged strands of his hair. “ _Do not forget what I am _.”__

____

____

She scoffed, burrowing a little further into her makeshift nest. “Indeed. It seems I will be completely at your mercy then. Should you suddenly take leave of your senses, there is nowhere for me to go, and neither will I be able to fend you off.” That was so, and yet she did not feel too threatened, nor anxious about that occurring. “Regardless, I should offer you my gratitude. You…I would have met my end had you not arrived.”

Once more she was brought to the query that she had begun with, and the woman leaned forward, her countenance tightening. “And you still have not answered me. Why approach me?”

Like a tired hound, he slumped lower, resting his head on his arms. There seemed a rueful light to his lifeless eyes. “ _Because…I remember you _.”__

____

____

Her brows furrowed and she frowned, pondering the statement. “I do not understand.”

His azure orbs swiveled sideward to meet her pointed stare and the beast-prince heaved a coarse breath. “ _My…identity. _” He growled, his eyes closing. “ _With every day that passes…less of me remains. There is less that I can recall of who I was. My name…I had forgotten it _.”____

_____ _

_____ _

The woman’s eyes widened some and she sat straighter, astonished by this confession. “Then, if this is so, we can only assume that in time, there will be nothing of you left. Does this mean that you will be lost as a mindless creature for all eternity?” Her fingers tightened into fists and she bit her tongue, unwilling to accept this possibility.

“ _I am almost there. Oftener and oftener my consciousness is…pushed aside. Oftener and oftener I am forced to see through these eyes as the body I cannot move wreaks havoc upon the innocent _.” Desperation began to line the snarling words and his body grew stiff and tense. “ _This is my sentence _.”____

_____ _

_____ _

Edelgard growled and shook her head, angered on his behalf. “No—a sentence implies that you have done wrong. Tell me, what wrong have you done to deserve such a fate?” She shouted furiously, angry at his lack of hope, angry at herself for having no way of helping—not at present, at least. “I spoke to those at your palace; they remember you; they mourn you and grieve your loss. There is not a soul upon this land that would say that you have earned this ‘sentence’.” 

The beast was unmoved, even as his dull gaze met with her own once more, there seemed no spark within him, as though truly, he believed himself beyond salvation. Yet that could not be. Why else would she have dreamed of him, had been led here? Why else would he remember her before his own name? 

“You say you remember me, but why?” She pressed, gritting her teeth, growing further irked by his lifeless demeanor. “Even I—I only have the barest hints of memories of you. So why me? Why do you call me by that name still—?” She did not know whether she asked this so urgently for him, or for herself—to soothe a broken, weeping girl that lived in her heart. 

His gaze drifted away, turning towards the white scape that seethed outside. “ _Those memories are…warm. I cling to them because they remind me that I… While everything else may fade, those fragments, I will not let go of them. They keep me sane. You— _,” The beast ceased to speak suddenly, a growl rumbling through his chest. “ _You keep me grounded, El _.”____

_____ _

_____ _

Listening to those words, her heart felt as though constricted by numerous tethers—pulling at every side. A deep ache yawned in her chest as she gazed at the tired, pitiful creature. She pressed a hand to her chest, trembling faintly. “Dimitri…she murmured, watching as he flinched, as though the name was foreign to him, a discomfort to hear. This man had done no wrong—none but that of having misplaced his trust. “Please, tell me what happened. I must know the truth.”

What had robbed him of his spirit and his life, had cursed him to such a miserable existence? 

“You say that I ground you, then look at me.” She snapped, glaring at the wretched thing, waiting until slowly, he turned his head once more and met her gaze. “Tell me. Surely you have carried this burden alone all these years—now here I am, the only person foolish enough to have sought after you. Should you not reward my efforts?” She could not help but speak with scorn, so disturbed was her own heart. “Why bite your tongue and swallow the words that wish to be free? Release your anguish and bitterness—or have you lost even the will to know anger? Have you truly become so pathetic so as to have forgotten what it means to hate? Well, Dimitri—?”

Suddenly, the creature stood, a harrowing roar crashing through the walls of the cavern, drowning out any further goading words that might have escaped her tongue. The sound silenced her at once and the woman froze, briefly petrified by the horrific noise. He had risen to stand again like a man—towering like a colossus above her.

He knew well what anger meant, what hatred meant. He knew all too well. It had gnawed at what was left of his heart for years. When misery and grief had been exhausted, what else had been left to turn to but raw, visceral loathing? And this woman—she wanted to know? 

“ _Cornelia. _” He snarled, his voice dripping with a stark and unrestrained abhorrence.__

____

____

Edelgard almost laughed—because she had not been expecting anything different. She kept her head and narrowed her eyes, observing his sudden change in demeanor—as though something had awoken within him. Hatred. Hatred had awakened. “What did she do?” The young emperor asked, her tone even and steady. 

“ _How am I to know _!” He snarled, whirling around to face her, a monstrous figure looming over her comparatively feeble frame. “ _I was asleep—I woke and found my company slaughtered—and that witch—stood over me and cast her curse. I knew nothing but agony—and she—she stood and laughed! _”____

_____ _

_____ _

Had his wrath been directed towards her, she would have been able to withstand it. Despite her assurance that he would do no harm to her, a bitter cold swept through and gripped her heart. She forced herself to remain composed, gripping tightly at the cloths covering her. “Come down.” She chided lightly, refusing to look away from the seething creature. “And face me.” 

For a moment, she almost feared that she would go unheeded, that just as before when she had struck a topic of particular sensitivity, he would balk and flee her sight. However, the beast lamely fell the ground, at a level more comparable to her own. Edelgard extended a hand and beckoned him closer. He did nothing but stare at it briefly, but as her glower grew more pronounced, like a tamed hound, he slunk closer. 

Forcing aside her revulsion, the woman pulled off her gloves and put them aside, reaching out to take his face—or what should have been a face, between her hands. “Because of you, my stay in this frigid wasteland has been nothing short of unbearable. This country is broken and is in dire need of fixing. How irresponsible of you, crown prince, to leave such a ruin in my care.” She clicked her tongue, feigning utter disappointment. She disregarded the bewilderment that had alighted in his azure gaze and sighed. “Is this not your lot? As such, I think it is prudent that we restore your form so that you may present me a kingdom worth having taken. As it is now, it is nothing but one trouble following another.”

“I will not take no for an answer.” She warned, knowing that taunting a gargantuan beast with the strength of twenty men was utter folly, but how else was she to turn his mind from helplessness? 

“ _This cannot be undone _.” He growled, the heat of his breath warming her face, so close they had gotten. In this bitter frost, it was most welcome.__

____

____

“You say this—but you have never tried to undo it.” Edelgard countered testily, resisting the urge to pull at the tough skin of his face. “Rather, you have never been presented with an opportunity to try. I should think I am deserving of your gratitude for providing with this chance.” She smiled at him haughtily, rather almost enjoying this conversation with him, as undeniably odd as that was. She had even almost begun to overlook the grotesque nature of his form. His eyes were, after all, still quite human—and in peering at them, it was easy to forget what he was. 

“At the very least, do you not want vengeance? Surely you must.” She pressed on, lowering her hands and instead patting the place beside her. With some measure of hesitation, he prowled to her side, evidently having forgotten his own warning to her. Perhaps finally receiving the chance to speak to another living soul had given his spirit some life and provided him with some stability of mind. The beast curled up like a dog, though big enough to surround her entirely—not that she minded. She found that he was incredibly warm, like a living furnace. 

“ _I cannot go there _.” Even with the voice of the form he was trapped within, she could feel the grief that ebbed from him in roiling waves. “ _She cursed me with an insatiable bloodlust. I could not stay it, try as I might, were I to go back _.”____

_____ _

_____ _

She sighed and gave in to the urge, leaning against him—as though he really was just an oversized dog, one that could speak, be minded. Disregarding propriety, the woman huddled into the warmth. “Then we must simply restore your form before you can return.”

He barked a laugh—or something akin to it, and she felt his body jerk with the sound. “ _You are optimistic _.”__

__“I have no choice.” She grumbled, her eyes falling closed. Strangely enough, all fear had dissipated—and she felt at ease, completely at ease—more so than she had in all the nights she had spent in Fhirdiad. “Otherwise what has all my effort been for?” Neither was she usually so…conversational, nor transparent. Was it because his form was not that of a human’s that she found it so much easier to speak freely?_ _

__Or perhaps it was because she felt, unfathomably, that she had known him for years and years._ _

__Yet, as the woman’s consciousness faded to darkness and slumber overtook her waking mind, she realized that she felt…tranquil. As though this was where she had been meant to be. As though there was no safer place in the world. It felt familiar. Warm. And again she dreamed—she dreamed of that room. The room in which she could laugh, where golden light filtered through and lit his hair with a fiery glow. Where he could lay at her side and hold her hand, and she could see his eyes, bright and alive._ _

__Alas, it was but a dream, and as she slept, the storm outside raged on and on._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have mixed feelings about this chapter; I think she might have gotten a little out of character, which was super hard to avoid, not gonna lie. I'm plodding along to the finish-line, though, and I'm going to get there no matter what it takes. 
> 
> Well, regardless of everything else, I hope this was an enjoyable read! 
> 
> I feel like I need to play the entire game again to get back into their minds. Well, now that I don't have to drive to campus anymore thanks to the shutdown, I do have more time , so...hopefully I can do that and get more writing done.


	7. Inquiry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far too many questions; too few answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not dead. I took another accidental, super long hiatus. I sort of lost motivation to write Dimigard for a while, and this piece in particular because I knew how I wanted it to end, I just didn't know how to get it there.
> 
> Lo and Behold, I had a 'lightbulb' moment today and figured out how to write the rest of my story, and thus my will to write came back to me. 
> 
> I do honestly love this story, and I do want to finish it. I'm excited to do so, and I hope you guys are enjoying reading it despite the weird breaks I take.

She had once believed that snowfall was silent. 

It was noiseless, gentle. A cold beauty; tranquil and tender. 

She had once believed a great many things and discovered them to be false. The world was not good, humans were not kind. Snow was not silent. It was neither gentle, nor tender, nor tranquil. Its beauty was only illusory, much like the spider’s glistening web. It was a cruel beauty, one that meant to ensnare. 

The woman sat, still and motionless, her gaze fixed upon the swirling white streams that had flooded from the heavens ceaselessly. It was not silent at all.

Her arms curled about her knees, her knees pulled to her chest, her chin resting atop them, she peered into the blinding nothingness. It had only grown deeper, taller—the drifts that piled outside of the shelter she was imprisoned within. 

How could one describe the sound of falling snow—no, not the wind. It was like a steady hum, like silence, but louder. A silence that spoke. A silence that sang. A silence that taunted.

Edelgard allowed a sigh to flutter from her lips and shut her eyes, taking in a sharp breath. It had not been so long that her mind would turn to crafting nonsensical riddles as though she had lost her sanity. Yet there was little else to do, trapped as she was in a small cavern. Her only companion—a giant hound-like creature, was yet still curled, much like a domesticated canine, about her body, wholly bound in a deep slumber. If not for the visible rise and fall of his chest, she might have believed that he had somehow passed whilst she herself had been asleep.

She was loath to rise, unwilling to leave behind the nest of warmth that he had kindled. Well, neither was there any reason to. If only for the sake of doing something and not remaining idle. She could not abide by it for long, and so she was listless. 

The woman permitted her mind to drift away once again, pondering one matter, and then another, paying no heed to where it wandered. Any distraction was a welcome one. 

She had not thought she could have possibly missed Ferdinand’s idle chatter. And yet nothing would have gladdened her more at this moment than the sound of that haughty, overly-enthusiastic voice chirping incessantly about one thing or another. Certainly, even one of Hubert’s drawling chastisements seemed not at all so punishing as they could be. 

So utterly monotonous it was in that little cavern that she had even begun to believe that sitting in for another conference with the empire’s noble lords would be a greater pleasure than this. Now, she must truly be desperate to even consider the thought. Desperate indeed—desperately bored. Now that was truly something…to be so near to so frightful and dangerous a creature and of all things, to find it dull. 

And yet, she was not so careless as to prematurely wake the slumbering beast—there was yet no way of knowing just who would wake from that slumber. It could be the cynical, miserable prince, which was the preferable option, or…

Edelgard flicked her gaze to the sleeping hound-like beast, her lips pressing into a thin line as she pondered the possibility. He may very well wake as the mindless animal, and just so, may very well assault her. Assault—now that was a delicate way of putting it. She possessed no great desire to become his morning feast, and now she was stuck deliberating upon this dilemma. It seemed a toss of a coin, fate’s coin—and thus far, that coin had seemed intent on hindering her at every step. With the goddess’ cruel humor, he may very well wake and snap off her head with one swipe of his fangs.

It seemed folly to simply remain in place and ruminate upon the subject…and yet she was also loath to rise and abandon the nest of warmth—it was devastatingly cold, after all, and the snow had not ceased to heave from the heavens.

The woman spared a moment to think on less vexing matters, and instead found herself wondering if her absence had yet been detected. Surely it had, and what an uproar there would be. She loosed a quiet sigh, her countenance falling slightly as she thought upon her friend’s inevitable distress. Dorothea would not have condoned this venture, and was likely to fall into no laughable state of despair and concern, perhaps even more so with the cryptic note she had left to offer some semblance of assurance. 

She had not been made privy, after all, to the knowledge that she now had confirmed—that the beast was not merely a beast, but a man, and to those that did not know this, it was a sure fate then that her life would be lost. Perhaps they would simply declare her dead; she did not doubt that the regent would have little qualm in doing so, eager as she seemed to claim authority over the north.

If that were so…

Edelgard sighed, wondering then just how long it would last, the hope of her survival. She could not remain absent for too long lest her fear be realized and the regent was given leave to claim ownership of the land she had so long desired. 

Well, she had confirmed her suspicions, that is, she knew now that the royal prince was yet living—that had been her foremost goal and now she had seen it through. Armed now with this knowledge, there was little reason to suffer in the frozen wilderness and extend the risk of her demise; either to the winter or to his madness when it befell him. 

The woman deliberated back and forth, wishing to return at once and both to stay and listen to more of the beast-man’s tale. She knew not what more he could tell her, and perhaps he himself unknowingly possessed the key to unraveling this curse, whatever key that was. If she did leave, would he permit her to find him again? She doubted that he would; the creature would assuredly hide himself away to stay his guilt.

Yet, what if Dorothea came upon the information that she needed whilst she was absent, as unlikely as that was. The songstress hardly even knew what it was that she was seeking, and surely the regent would not be so careless as to immediately allow access to anything nefarious or unsavory, not until she was absolutely certain that the woman was not acting against her plans. 

So, a stalemate. There were benefits to returning, as there were benefits to remaining, and likewise there were consequences to both decisions. Undoubtedly, however, the chances of her survival would rise exponentially if she chose to leave this accursed wood, in every facet, but that was evident enough. Regardless, there was still something she had to accomplish before making any such choices. The relic she had, like a fool, allowed to escape her.

The woman glanced at the slumbering creature, her brows knitting together in faint displeasure. Perhaps he knew where the axe had gone. That would surely be fortunate. 

It was, despite all the thoughts and plans coursing through her mind, still too soon to be ruminating upon any of these ambitions. After all, the world outside of their little shelter was still wrathful, frigid and unyielding. There was nowhere that she could go, even if she wished to, not in the current blizzard. She was, bluntly stated, quite trapped. Her position was undeniably a precarious one, what, alone and unarmed with a beast that could at any moment wake and decide that she was to be his morning meal.

Of course, she did hope that he would wake as himself—as the man and not the thoughtless animal. 

Gingerly, she skimmed her hand to her waist, curling her fingers about the small dagger strapped to her belt. She doubted that the tiny blade could do anything more than shave a few hairs from his body; it certainly could not pierce through the thick hide, but it was a small comfort nonetheless. 

The young emperor slipped the dagger from its sheath and lifted it, dolefully peering at the silver of the blade. How many years had this little knife been her companion? How many years had it offered a quiet companionship, whispering words of solace in the moments of her misery? She could but vaguely recall that she had received it as a child, that a warm hand had given it to her, that a kind voice had bestowed upon her a hope that she had borne throughout her years—those words still lingering, echoing like that of an apparition. 

Sometimes she wished that she could recall her youth with more vivid a clarity, that the haze would diminish. She knew that there was a warmth there, hidden in the depths of her skull, like embers that would not die. 

A wry, bitter smile furled the corners of her lips and the woman lowered the dagger, wondering at the cruel irony. That in unraveling the webs of this bleak land’s darkness, she would be unable to reach through and unveil her own memories. And neither had she ever wished to seek them before, not actively, always having been content to know that they were there, inaccessible. Now it seemed a vicious taunt that she would wish to remember and be unable to, just as this man was slowly losing his own identity. 

They were…in some strange way, bound. A thread was coiled about them both, dreadfully tangled. 

Why else would she have dreamed of him? Why else would she have been drawn to his quarters? Those dreams—they too were distant, mere fragments now as she tried to call them to the forefront of her mind. It was beyond frustrating, the young woman decided, heaving an irritable sigh. 

It was to her fortune that the creature furled around her form stirred then, offering her a distraction from her thoughts and the concerns that seemed to plague her ceaselessly. What would it be like, she wondered, to live one day without worry? Even so, Edelgard froze, her breath freezing in her lungs as she waited, watching as the great, hulking beast raised his head, a yawn splitting his gaping maw. She could not deny that the sight of those enormous fangs sent a pathetic shudder of discomfort through her figure. 

Deciding that rather than being caught off guard, she would rather be certain at once to whom she was speaking, the woman cleared her throat. “Dimitri?” She asked, her voice a tad quieter than she had hoped it would be, but to her fortune, it lacked any tremors that could have betrayed her trepidation. “Good morning.” Edelgard offered, knowing it slightly silly to greet the creature so amicably, but it eased some of her discomfort regardless. Perhaps it was merely the solace of familiarity, greeting one early in the day, as she often did with Hubert. 

As the beast-man turned his great head, making no sudden motion to lunge at her throat, she was given some measure of peace. It was indeed him that was in control of his current state. However, he said nothing, remaining still, his eyes trained upon her own from between the matted, tangled locks of hair that hung from his head. After a moment of such appraisal, the beast-prince huffed, pushing himself to all fours, reminding her again of either some sort of canine—though, more like a bear, she supposed. 

“You are still here.” Came the gruff, growled voice, a greeting of sorts at last. 

The woman scoffed, folding her arms across her chest, turning her head to send a withering glance at the ceaseless torrent of white that smeared the world like a careless painter slathering his canvas. “I do not, unfortunately, possess the ability to withstand the earth’s fury. I decided that rather than risk a certain demise out of doors, remaining and risking your madness was preferable.”

Her eyes trailed after him as he stalked towards the cave’s entrance, flinching in surprise when he stood. It was silly, she realized after the fact, that she had been caught off guard. Perhaps it was simply the size of him that still managed to astonish her. She was of a small stature herself, and when he rose to stand like a man, she was reminded that he was enormous—Edelgard was rather certain that she could just barely reach past his navel if she were to stand beside him as he was now. 

She shook aside those inconsequential musings and followed suit, rather unsteady as she tried to traverse the pile of cloth, immediately met with what might have been a wall of cold. Cursing, the woman pulled her cloak tighter around herself, trudging towards the unmoving figure. “Dimitri,” The emperor began, ceasing to approach a short distance from him. “I need your assistance.”

It was as though he had turned to stone for as little as he moved, and she was not certain that he had heard her. That, or he was willfully ignoring her plea. 

Huffing irritably, the woman moved even closer, narrowing her eyes at the oversized hound. “Did you—,”

“With what?” A snarled response, but he did not look at her, continuing to gaze morosely into the wintry scape. The land looked…well, utterly impassable. Even had she wanted to, there was simply no feasible way for her to depart on her own—and that would have been the case had she still had her stallion. “What could you possibly want of me?” The prince swung his head to peer at her, and she looked up, craning her neck to meet the pair of dulled, cobalt eyes that were just visible behind the matted locks. 

Sighing, Edelgard clenched her jaw, refusing to permit her teeth to chatter. “My axe.” She bit out, jerking her head towards the storm raging beyond the intangible wall that separated them from it. “Aymr. It was lost to me following my first encounter.” The woman felt her lips furl into a frown, recalling that it had still been attached to her horse. “Seeing as you…make those beasts your meals, I had hoped that you would know where it had gone.”

“The relic.” The prince returned hoarsely, lowering himself to all fours again—perhaps so she would not strain her neck in staring at him. “I remember it.” He confirmed, to her relief. 

Struck by a sudden realization, Edelgard spun around, her eyes darting around the cavern as though by some chance, she had not noticed its presence before. “It—is not here?” She could not help the slight bewilderment that lined her tone as she scanned the darkness, frowning as it became apparent that indeed, the relic was nowhere to be found. So he had not brought it back to his shelter. Refusing to allow her frustration to show, the woman turned again to face him, raising her chin and composing herself outwardly. “Then, where is it?”

Almost as though guilty, the beast-prince lowered his head and did not meet her gaze, and neither did he answer at once. “I left it.” Came the guttural answer, and that sparked even greater an ire within her.

Still, she retained her composure, feeling strangely as though she was speaking to a child that knew he had done wrong and still gave an effort to appear innocent. Strange indeed, given that the beast before her was a grown man. “And where did you leave it?” Like a patient matron preparing to chastise her remorseful son, she queried again, tucking her hands beneath her arms. “Please tell me that you can find it again.”

“Of course I can.” The prince retorted with a snap of his jaws, as though the statement had somehow affronted him. “After these years, I know every crevice of these woods.” There seemed a tint of haughty pride to his rumbling voice, and it was admittedly just a tad amusing. It was utterly undeniable, regardless of what he wanted her to believe. The man was still there, still strong. And again she felt a familiar surge of resolve, to restore the man that lived within that wretched shell.

“I am certain that you do.” She sighed, resigning herself to the fact that she could do naught in this situation. She could not even leave this cavern to procure sustenance for herself, she realized as her belly chose that moment to wail its aching emptiness. Right, in her eagerness to search for him, she had left behind her belongings and any food that she had brought. Cursing, the woman glanced sideward, wondering if he had noticed. “Dimitri,” Edelgard forced herself to begin, pushing aside her wounded pride, but the beast was already looking at her.

A sound that might have been some sort of laugh, mangled though it was, echoed through the cavern. “I hope horse suits your palate.” The beast quipped with a sort of black, sardonic humor, lumbering away and into the furious weather, swiftly disappearing into the depth of the white. 

She had not even been given the chance to protest, not that she would have. In her current situation, truly, it would be utterly ungrateful of her to complain. It was, however, somewhat jarring to suddenly have been left in solitude. It was almost frightening how quickly he had vanished. One would not have thought that so large a creature could move with such swiftness. Well, she had experienced firsthand how unnaturally fleet footed he could be, to a terrifying degree. If possible, she truly hoped that she would not be subjected to such uncertainty in the near future, especially now that she was caught in this one place. Not that she would have been able to outrun him even if the weather was clear and snow had not been heaped past her waist.

Edelgard released a long breath, her shoulders sagging as she raised her eyes and peered at the darkened sky, muddled with bleak grey clouds. After this trip, she earnestly hoped that she would never glimpse so much as single flake of snow henceforth to the end of her days. Perhaps she would even return the north to its rightful ruler to escape the possibility. Let him deal with the politics and the torrential blizzards—she wanted naught to do with it. Alas, she thought with a rueful smile, mere idealistic thoughts. Even if she wanted to give Faerghus back to the heir, it would not be so simple an endeavor; there would be a fair number of those opposed to the notion.

As it was for a sovereign; there was less freedom in such a station than one might have expected. 

The young woman shook her head and turned away from the blinding scape, lamely making her way back to her temporary nest, rubbing at her shoulders to ward off the creeping chill. She could not say that she had ever ingested horse before, but—Sothis, she earnestly hoped that she would not have to consume it raw. The very thought sent her gut churning uncomfortably and the young emperor shuddered, her brows furrowing. It was still more palatable a thought than that of eating another human—and he certainly thought similarly if his actions to date meant anything. 

She knew now that he gave an effort in not consuming his fellow man, even in this state, but… Edelgard traced a finger down a bloodied tunic, one of many that made up the makeshift bed. Did that mean he had not once stooped to doing so? That was impossible, otherwise he would not have lived so long. No—he had admitted to it, had he not? When blinded by the madness of his curse, he could not control his actions, when hunger drove him to lose his senses, what else could he do?

It was a miserable thought, miserable and repulsive both, and she could not but pity him. It was a curse unlike any other, and she wondered how he had even managed to retain any sanity all these years. Would she, Edelgard could not but ponder, would she have fared any better? If she had been thrust into such a position as him, what would she have done?

With a surge of rather stoic arrogance, the woman banished the thought. She would not have been so naïve, nor so trusting as to fall into a blatant trap as it had been. That was their difference—she had always been slow to trust and wary, and he—well, the young prince Blaiddyd had been warm, kind, and saw good where there was naught more than withering weeds. Why else would he have looked upon that wretched enchantress and not sent her away at once?

Regardless, she doubted that he would be so trusting now—it was evident enough already that he lost the haze of innocence. She wondered what sort of man he would be when she restored him—if she restored him. Undoubtedly he would not be the same man as he had been before this ordeal.

The woman heaved a sigh and shut her eyes, aggravated by her own tendency to think so far ahead. Nothing was certain as of yet, including the matter of her own survival. 

In order to distract herself and keep from listless idleness, the woman began to pace back and forth, unaccustomed to such solitude: true solitude. Even when she had sought a moment of peace in her own palace, she had always been utterly assured of her own security, safety—there had always been others not too distant.

Here, now, she had been left defenseless, helpless, and utterly alone. As such, she could not but feel the growing anxiety and trepidation, even finding herself hoping that the beast would return quickly from wherever he had run to. It was far too quiet, far too loud. 

The clicking of her heels against the stone, she focused her attention upon that sound. Steady, methodical. A recognizable pattern, and one that did not stutter. Goodness, she had not known that she would so quickly succumb to such desperate boredom. It was in her nature to spurn idleness, and now, where there was absolutely naught to expend her time on, she had quickly grown restless. 

Fire, a fire would be welcome—but she could not even go and collect wood. Perhaps she would ask him to do so when he returned, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth at the thought. Treating the notorious creature as a beast of burden and a prince as an errand boy. 

She did not think that he would mind either way, but…she could not but wonder, where had he gone? He had seemed to understand what she had wanted to request of him, and if that were so, then she supposed it meant that he had gone to procure a source of sustenance for her—be it horse, or anything else. Of anything else that one could find out here at this time of year, the former was the preferred. She doubted there was much prey to be found—why else would he have resorted to consuming horses himself?

Edelgard frowned and clicked her tongue, amazed that she had given so much attention to the matter. In her state, food was food. That was the end of it. 

Or, so she had thought, moments before her odd companion loped out of the churning storm. At first it seemed as though he had grown in size, by some wicked fate, had become even more monstrous and deformed. 

As should not have been surprising, at the sudden reappearance of the great, hulking form leaping out of the haze of white, the woman startled, instinctively reaching for a weapon that was not at her side. It took a few moments for her heart to settle as that hound-like creature slowed at the entry to his cave, and a few moments longer for her to realize what it was that had shifted his appearance.

The mass that she had mistaken to be a part of him was in fact a whole different entity—and that became all to apparent as the prince hefted it over his shoulder and allowed it to fall to the ground with a weighted ‘thud’.

The woman felt her lips part as astonishment and confusion both overcame her rationality. The enormous mass on the floor of their cavern was—of all things, a bear. It was a bear. Yes—and so far as she knew, bears were supposed to be big. How was it that even a full-sized bear looked small beside the beast-prince? “What,” Edelgard gave voice to her bewilderment, looking between the prince and his quarry. “Is that?” 

As though it was nothing out of the ordinary, the prince lumbered further into his den, pausing to grip the lifeless bear’s leg and drag it further inside. “A meal.” He growled, unconcerned by her wariness. It was a tad more common a meal than was a horse, but of all things...

Had he—he had hunted a bear? The young emperor merely gaped, unsure as to whether she should be impressed or frightened. She supposed that it should not have come as a surprise that he could fight off a bear on his own, though, as she glanced outside once more, she realized that it had probably been tucked away in a cave of its own, slumbering. She felt a touch of sympathy for the poor creature, and yet managed also to feel relief; at least it was not her stallion presented to her. 

Regardless of what animal it was, she was not a beast herself—and she could not eat meat raw. Perhaps she could, but she would rather not risk the consequences of attempting to do so. Therein came the necessity for fire. Clearing her throat, the woman warily stepped closer, resisting the urge to display her disgust as the beast-prince lowered himself to lounge beside his prey and with a swift bite, sank his teeth into the animal and tore away a heaping chunk of flesh and fur. 

Right, this was not the time, nor the place, to care for manners, nor royal etiquette. She tried to disregard the repulsive sight and raised her chin, unwilling to be cowed by something so insignificant. “Dimitri, I am incapable of consuming that as you are.” At the very least, she would need to remove the creature’s hide. “Unless, you had no intention of sharing that to begin with.” Which posed a problem in itself. She was sure that he could ingest it whole on his own. 

The prince returned her concerns with a gruff sigh, pausing in his indulgence to raise his wretched head and peer at her. “Ah, yes.” The beast-prince grumbled, grudgingly pushing himself up. It was as though he had forgotten that not everyone could do the same as him. Not unlikely, considering the time he had spent on his own. 

“Wood.” She coughed, fixing her stance to appear composed and regal—as well as she could in this pathetic state. “I need fire.” The woman stated, assuming an air of authority—which was truly quite laughable given that one swipe of his paw could send her careening through the air like a limp, straw doll. He most certainly did have to listen to her demands, nor give her any aid. Perhaps she should have been a tad more courteous to the creature that was providing her with shelter, but acting this way, resuming her façade of strength and composure was in some way a comfort. If nothing more than an illusory dominance, she could feel that she still had control over something. 

Her grizzled companion sent her what seemed to be a withering glance, perhaps slightly miffed by her treatment of him, but he said not a word in protest and once more loped into the world swathed in white.

This time, he had not gone very far, for he returned rather quickly. Before he did, however, the young emperor heard a tremendous sound, like that of a tree snapping in half. She could not but furrow her brows, sparing a disbelieving moment to ponder whether he had earnestly torn down an entire tree to fulfill her request. 

She discovered in a moment that, while no, he had not truly brought the length of a cedar with him, he had broken off an enormous branch—the end thick and gnarled, so much so that no human could have simply pulled it from its place with their meager strength. Edelgard knew well that it should not have surprised her, and yet, she still stared, somewhat dumbfounded as the beast-prince strode in on his hind legs, dragging the wood behind him as though it was nothing more than a small stick.

Though she wanted to ask what he expected her to do with such a sizeable, seemingly unbreakable piece of wood, her inquiry was rendered pointless in a moment. 

The woman stepped out of his way as he pulled the branch behind him, further into the cave, and promptly began to snap pieces of varying lengths from it, and she was once again struck with the dizzying realization that he could very well snap her in half with a similar ease. Still, she carefully crept closer, rubbing her arms to ward off the chill that seemed to wish to gnaw on her skin. 

Within moments, the large, unusable branch had been reduced to kindling and smaller sized pieces of wood that would bear a flame better. “Your wood.” The beast grunted, falling back to all fours and lumbering back to the lifeless prey he had prior acquired. 

Edelgard murmured her gratitude, stepping towards the pile he had assembled at her behest and knelt, raising her hands to the base. Already shivering, the young woman repeated the incantation that had kept her living the night afore, watching with some satisfaction as a small ember grew and took hold of the scraps that would feed the rest of her fire. She did not relent until a sufficient number of her logs had caught, and only then did the woman heave a sigh of relief and allow herself to sit back, basking in the warmth that had begun to emanate. 

A few moments of such peace did she permit herself before finally turning her head and glancing inquisitively at her companion. He had resumed his prior occupation, that was, ripping heaps of sinewy flesh from his quarry and gulping them down. She supposed it could have been considered rather repulsive, however truly, she was in no place to make any judgements. It would have been stranger to watch him eat with a knife and fork. 

The woman made her mind and cleared her throat, and the beast-prince paused once more, eyeing her as would any disgruntled animal that had been disturbed in the midst of their meal. She bit back a slight sense of amusement as the exasperated man huffed yet another loud sigh and stood again, dragging the mangled bear behind him. 

“Take what you will.” He grumbled, dropping the carcass by her side, and in a rather considerate manner, tore the hide off of the unfortunate creature so that she could access the meat more easily. Having done his part, the beast-man lowered himself to his belly and continued to eat, this time a little too closely for her liking. 

It could not be described as pleasant, listening to the vile sound of tearing and ripping. In fact, Edelgard found it a tad too easy to imagine that it was her own body that his teeth were shredding. With a faint shudder, the woman tried to disregard the noise as best she could. She pushed herself to her knees and pulled out her dagger, resolved to pay no heed as to what animal she was about to taste, and plunged the steel into the flesh. 

As an emperor, she could not afford to be squeamish, but there was still something unsettling about carving into what was very plainly a living creature herself, and her stomach churned at the thought. She swallowed thickly, biting her tongue and focusing her attention on her hunger. This was no time to be picky about her palate. 

The woman cut herself a sizable chunk and thrust the end of the meat onto her dagger, heaving a sigh as she held it towards the fire. Perhaps if she charred it well enough, it would be a tad more palatable. Truthfully, she had never ingested bear before. The empire had innocuous dishes, simple and recognizable. She had no doubt that her denizens would be appalled by the very thought of putting something so wild and unfamiliar into their mouths.

The cavern descended into a peaceable quiet. It could almost have been considered soothing, the gentle crackling of the fire and the atmospheric falling snow—but for the sound of her companion’s feasting. Try as she might, it was difficult to ignore completely. Well, in that case, she saw no reason not to distract herself.

“Dimitri,” She began, her voice falling from her tongue softer than she had intended it to. The woman cleared her throat, her brows knitting together as she amended her supposed timid tone. “I want to speak with you at greater length regarding what occurred to you then.” The conversation they had not quite concluded, rather, that had not satisfied her. 

A low grumble echoed through the cave, and the woman gathered that her companion was less than pleased by the very mention of that disastrous event. “What more is there to say?” He growled, the sound dark and threatening. Yet she could not permit herself to grow disheartened merely by his unwillingness to discuss the occasion. “I told you I do not know.”

She withdrew her hand and inspected the darkening meat, unsure as to whether it was ready to be consumed. For the sake of caution, she thrust it back into the fire, unwilling to grow ill because she had eaten uncooked, wild meat. “Do you truly recall nothing?” The woman queried again, sure that there surely must have been one significant detail, at the very least, that could prove of some use in deciphering this puzzle.

“I do not know what you expect me to recall.” The beast snarled again, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him rise. Within a moment, the creature had circled the fire and settled down opposite her, all of his deformed, hideous figure revealed to her in the light. Perhaps, had it been her first sighting of him, she might have found it revolting.

Now, Edelgard found that it was simply…sad. Grieving. There was little light to be found in his striking azure eyes; they were dim and dull, speaking volumes of the hope that he had given up. She supposed that it would have been difficult to retain any sort of optimism after the five years spent in such a grotesque form. 

But she could not permit herself to discard her own. She was, after all, the only one to have discovered this nefarious plot—what good would it do her to simply determine him unsalvageable. It would be beyond callous of her to simply allow the ailing, tormented prince to live out the rest of his days in such a cruel fashion. Was she to turn a blind eye now knowing what she knew, and do as he had said? To leave him in solitude until the memory of his humanity fled his being and he was left truly mindless and untamed, a true beast in more than merely word. 

This man was still beloved by many. 

“Anything.” She snapped sharply, a sort of bitter resolve lining the edge of her tone. “Anything at all Dimitri.” Edelgard raised her head and narrowed her eyes at the creature across her, unwilling to turn her gaze from his. “I do not know how to help you, how to resolve this curse, nor how to restore your form. I am not learned in Faith nor Reason as my subordinates are—I have not the slightest clue as to what sort of spell was cast, nor what unholy power was dredged from the underbelly of the Eternal Fire to bind you to this misery.” The woman growled, growing agitated herself, though she knew not entirely why. Perhaps it was frustration, helplessness that had spread its poisoned roots through her chest and forced ire to her voice.

Her fingers curled tightly around the hilt of her dagger, her lungs fluttering as she forced herself to breathe. “But until I exhaust every possible cause, or die to your madness in the process,” She added with a dark, sardonic humor, her voice hitching slightly. “I will not cease in this endeavor. I will strive to discover the answer.” She felt her own nails scraping into her skin, not having realized that she had tightened her grip so strongly. 

The creature peered at her, unblinking and unmoving, his shadowed eyes weary, resigned. “And…if you do not?” The prince’s voice was a low rumble, almost gentle in comparison to the gruff tone she had familiarized herself with. 

Edelgard released a quavering breath, lowering her dagger, her gaze shifting to the flickering, dancing flames. “Then I will,” She swallowed, the words she had meant to say caught in her throat. They felt thick, ugly—they felt like vile poison as they squirmed across her tongue. “I will kill you myself.” The woman whispered, swearing him that final oath. It would be kinder. It would be far kinder then to end his agony by her own hands then to allow him to live to see his identity dwindle like a dying candle. 

And what if that were the outcome? 

An unfamiliar sense of dread, of despair and terror began to coil in her gut at the notion. Had she not even considered the possibility? No—she had, and she had dismissed it, so lost in her own certainty and arrogance. She had not permitted herself to believe that she would fail in this ambition. Her pride had not allowed her to do so, but pride was a vice, as was arrogance. 

Edelgard found herself forcibly confronted by the possibility she had been willfully disregarding. She was staring it right in the eyes. If she failed to discover the reversal to this misery, then she would be the one to shut those eyes for all eternity. She alone would know the truth behind the prince’s demise, she alone would bear the burden of knowing that he had been suffering in solitude. 

She would live with it and his ghost chained like a gravestone around her neck. 

Perhaps he would plague her dreams every night henceforth, a belligerent spectre that had not been given its rightful rest. Or perhaps he would be silent. Perhaps he had wandered with loathing in his spirit for long enough. 

Was that preferable, she wondered, to have every trace of him depart from their moral realm. 

The woman gazed dolefully at the bright hues wavering before her eyes, a dull throbbing in her chest. She did not permit herself to discern the feelings that had begun to flood her heart, shoving aside any such sentiment. It did not matter what she felt in regards to this matter. Her heart had no bearing, nor sway on her decision. For both his sake, and his people’s; it must be done.

The woman hardened her heart and forced steel into her gaze when again she lifted her head to meet his unflinching gaze. “Will you agree to these terms?” She asked, her voice having regained its strength and characteristic dominance. 

The beast had rested his head on his arm and remained still, merely looking at her—or through her, so it seemed. “You think you will be able to kill me?” It was not uttered in scorn, nor derision—but was an earnest, bleakly hopeful inquiry. 

“I will.” Edelgard retorted firmly, making this vow both for herself and him. If she lost her life in the midst of doing so, then…well so be it. Perhaps she could follow him into that bright dream where the sun was bright and warm and they could laugh together without burden. And in that dream, perhaps she would never see snow again. A quiet, bleak laugh tumbled from her lips and the woman averted her gaze, lamely pulling her dagger from the fire.

Unattended as it had been throughout the duration of their conversation, the meat that had been stuck to the point was blackened and burnt. The woman overcame her inhibitions and sank her teeth into the charred flesh, grimacing as she tore off a stringy, sinewy chunk, forcing herself to chew. It was, if nothing else, hot. 

Edelgard soldiered through another bite, almost choking on her mouthful when the beast-prince suddenly jerked upright, his eyes suddenly brightened, wide and attentive—and his sudden piercing gaze was directed at the little dagger in her hand. 

Slowly, he began to circle the fire, lumbering on all fours towards her, and the woman felt her heart began to quicken its pulse within its confines. Unwittingly, she grew tense, stiffening and shrinking back when the beast came to loom above her, his cobalt eyes still focused on the piece of metal in her grip. 

The woman cleared her throat, forcing the tremor of anxiousness from her voice before she spoke. “You need not eye my meat so greedily. There is a whole bear for you to feast on.” She remarked lightly in a lame attempt at easing her own apprehension, knowing well that it was not her piece of near-inedible coal that had caught his interest. Yet she could not presume to guess why it was that he had taken such an ardent curiosity in the small knife; it would hardly be able to scrape the exterior of his thick skin.

Edelgard watched with some measure of wariness as the beast-man leaned his great head lowered, almost level with her own, trying not to wince when a puff of hot air swept across her face. “Dimitri?” She asked slowly, quietly, trying to discern whether he was still himself or on the verge of reversing into the inhuman creature that lurked beneath the threads of his sanity. 

“The dagger.” 

She heard the ghost of his hoarse voice, bemusement drawing her brows together at the strange sort of wistful awe that had tinted his tone. 

Edelgard pried the meat off the blade and tossed it irreverently into the fire, taking a moment to clean off the steel, unsure as to what to say. Gingerly, she nodded, raising the little weapon, the fire glinting off the metal and tinting it with a crimson hue. “Not very suitable to defend me should you lose yourself, is it?” The woman jested wryly, glancing at his face, far nearer to her own than she would have cared for. His blade-like teeth were, after all, mere inches from her throat. 

He did not respond to either of her ill attempts at lightheartedness, oddly fixated on the scrap of metal that she had carried through her life. “Why,” A great heaviness weighed his voice, years of grief and pain carrying through one simple word. “Why do you still have that?”

Why had he asked such a thing? As though he knew what it was and when she had received it. The woman lowered her dagger, narrowing her eyes at the prince, slightly irritated by the inquiry. “By what right do you query me?” For many years had she kept this inconsequential knife by her side despite having outgrown its size and usefulness, well some might think. 

The eyes that had been so keenly regarding the dagger were now fixated upon her own. And then slowly, the man spoke once more. “…Have you cut your own path, El?”

As though someone had lodged a spear through her chest, the woman recoiled, paling at the words that had once been uttered in a very different voice. The very words that had remained with her to this day, had inspired her ambitions and provided a comfort and security as naught else had managed to do. 

In that instant she was no longer looking at the eyes of a morose, accursed creature—the eyes that returned her awed gaze were bright, lively. They had been filled with the warmth of an innocent, naïve, and childlike love. Those words had once been uttered by a timid voice; timid and gentle beyond compare. The hand that had extended more than a simple dagger—but a promise, an oath. 

A damp warmth trickled down her cheek, hanging off the tip of her chin. He remembered her. He, a broken man residing in a malformed shell, a man who had forgotten his own name, remembered her. Remembered the unspoken promise between them from so many years past. And she had forgotten. 

So it had been his hand, the woman realized with a sort of awe-stricken wonderment, reaching dazedly for the twisted paw-like limb, unheeding of the tears slipping down her countenance. He did not resist, permitting her to take his enormous hand into her own. Edelgard could but stare at it, so much larger than her own. It had been this hand that had offered her such warmth and comfort, that had offered her companionship.

Her tears trickled down her nose, dripping onto the dense hide of his palm, but he said nothing, and neither did he pull away, catching every tear without qualm. 

“El.” He said quietly, and for a moment, she thought she had heard a man’s voice—his voice, not twisted by his curse’s grip. “When the time comes,” Carefully, the beast slipped his hand from her grip, instead curling his clawed fingers around hers—the hand that held the dagger. “Use this.” 

No. No—how dare he?

The woman shook her head, suddenly furious. She pulled her hand away, snapping her head up to meet his gaze, not bothering to wipe the tracks from her cheeks as she gathered her grief and forced it into anger. It was easier to be angry, she thought, than to permit her sadness to wear at her soul. “You have the gall to ask that of me?” The emperor hissed, her heart suddenly perturbed by a great many sentiments all at once. Could he not even have allowed her to properly fathom that it had been himself that had saved her all those years ago before wrenching this knife into her chest? 

The beast looked unspeakably sad, the depths of his eyes a river of melancholy like that she had never known. He did not say a word, but he need not have spoken regardless. It was written in his eyes as much as it was engraved into the weight of the dagger.

An oath. 

The woman swallowed thickly, knowing well that she had already made that promise. Still, was she simply to concede defeat? “This—meant life.” She breathed, feeling as though she was sinking, drowning—and no by no effort could she remain afloat. He had given her this gift—the promise of a better future, a fate she could carve out on her own. Now he meant it to signify death, a resignation to the very fate they had all those years ago sworn to resist. 

“Enough.” She snapped suddenly, thrusting the dagger aside. “I will not hear of this any longer.” The woman recovered herself and her composure, shutting her eyes momentarily. “As I said; a last resort. My friend is still in the palace, and she is looking for any sign of this foul magic that Cornelia has cast. Hope is not yet to be forsaken.” 

The beast grunted what seemed to be a bitter laugh, his eyes losing their shine once more. “Why do you remain so obstinate in this regard? Do you truly expect that witch to share her vile secrets so easily? Why are you so resolved upon lifting this infernal curse?” He snarled, withdrawn and resigned again, rising to tower over her, and Edelgard merely lifted her head, her glare unceasing.

“All those years ago, you offered me your hand, Dimitri.” The woman told him sharply, her eyes narrowing slightly as she caught sight of something by the light of the fire. For a moment, she had thought it to be nothing more than a trick of her eyes. “Do you really expect me to turn my back on you now? Now that I have finally remembered who it was that filled my youth with warmth beyond measure?” Her voice lost its bite as again, that strange glint flickered in her eyes, dulling her ire and instead attaining her intrigue. 

“Kneel down.” She commanded, her brows furrowing as she stepped closer, not quite able to make it out—the disparity in their stature preventing her from seeing clearly. He did so, though no without another low grumble. 

Edelgard threw caution and trepidation aside and pressed her hand to his chest, feeling him flinch slightly beneath her palm. She could have sworn she had seen something, something akin to a jewel or gen tangled between the fur and hair on his torso. A vague sense of familiarity and recognition began to churn in her mind as she leaned closer, groping through the matted hide without any regard for his comfort. 

“…What are you doing?” The gruff voice rumbled in her ear, seemingly remarkably loud for as close as they once again were. Perhaps it would have been strange if he had been a mere man—to search his chest with such interest, but she could not muster any sort of mortification. 

“Be quiet and be still.” She snapped in return, a quiet gasp breaking from her chest as she felt something beneath her finger—something smooth, far too smooth to be flesh. Though slightly repulsed to have done so, Edelgard had in fact discovered something in the tangle of his mane, keeping her finger flush against it as she turned her head and sought for the knife she had released. “Give me the dagger.” The woman demanded again, leaving no room for any protest, and without quarrel, the beast heaved a breath and easily picked it up from his place.

Assured now that her mind was not imagining things, the woman withdrew her fingers and instead gripped a handful of the long, filthy hair that had been covering whatever it was that she had found. The emperor was resolved, and so without so much as a grimace, she swept the blade of her dagger through the straw-like hair, throwing the strands aside. 

After a few more iterations, the very thing that she had sought was revealed—no longer buried beneath a nest of his hair. 

Edelgard released a long breath, carefully lowering her hand as she stared, bemused. On the left side of his chest, right above where his heart would have lain was embedded a crimson jewel, or what seemed alike enough to be one. Hesitantly, the young emperor raised her hand, skimming her finger across the surface. Smooth, yet warm, as though a living part of his flesh.

Her eyes followed the blackened seams that had spread out across his skin beneath the stone, dark veins spread out in a sickening web. 

…A heart. It was like a heart, she realized, hearkening back to a strange sort of fragmented memory lodged someplace in her skull. Where had she seen it before—and how? No, no it had been a dream, had it not? She had dreamt of blue—the blue of his eyes, and of red. Was this then the red? Had her dreams been premonitions? Even so, what did it mean? Was this it? Was this the key to solving the riddle? 

Her brows furrowed and her lips tightened into a frustrated frown. What was she to do with it—break it? And what if that merely killed him—what if this stone was his one weakness? 

There were far too many questions and too few answers. 

“Dimitri,” She began slowly, sliding her gaze upward to meet his curious stare, somehow loath to remove her hand from his person, as though the one clue she had found would vanish as soon as she did so. “What is this?” 

The beast craned his neck, attempting to catch an unsuccessful glimpse of the stone that had been unknowingly embedded in his flesh. As hidden as it had been, she doubted that he would have realized its presence, more so given that he had no access to a mirror. It was clear enough that he did not know. 

Nevertheless, she would not act rashly. There was time yet, and she had trust in the woman she had left behind to investigate. Perhaps her effort may have yielded some inkling of information that could yet tie this mystery together. 

Reluctantly, she pulled back her hand and curled it atop her chest instead, her eyes still lingering on that faintly pulsing stone. It was miraculous that she had even managed to see it, whatever good it did that she had. She could not shake the sentiment that it was significant in some way, no, in fact she was rather sure of it. 

“Are you ready?”

The low, gruff voice pulled her from her bout of rumination, startling her some as she stumbled back, caught off guard. “What?” She asked, frowning faintly as she glanced up, her gaze following the direction of the creature’s stare. He had pointed his eyes outward, peering at the entrance of their little shelter. “The snow…” She murmured, realizing what it was she was looking at. The snow had ceased to fall at last. 

The emperor shook her head, turning a puzzle eye to her companion. “Ready for what?” She inquired, some measure of suspicion coloring her tone. 

He lowered himself to all fours again, tossing her an irritable glance as he loped towards the bright light that filtered into the cave. “To find your relic.” He retorted tersely, pausing just beside the entry as though awaiting her. 

She had not realized that she would be joining him on that particular venture. Edelgard had little desire to step foot out of doors despite the fact that the blizzard had in fact ceased to howl its wrath upon the world. It was going to be agonizingly cold and she was loath to leave her fire. 

“If you think that I am capable of slogging through that frigid hazard, you are mistaken.” The woman stated rather testily, displeased by the very notion. She had spent more time in that chilling nuisance than she cared for; she was most certainly less than enthused by the prospect of trudging through it again. 

The beast made a sound that was eerily similar to something of a laugh, tossing his head as though to beckon her closer. “How fortunate for you.” He rumbled drily, his eyes flashing through his matted locks. “That you can ride atop my back.”

Her eyes widened inexorably and the woman found herself perplexed. Of course that was a possibility—though she had not, admittedly, thought of it herself. She supposed it would be little different from mounting a horse, or any other creature. Well, in that case, she no longer had sufficient reason to refuse. 

“Fine.” Edelgard conceded, though not without a sigh, and with as much dignity as she could muster, strode towards her surrogate mount. Had he not been a beast, this would assuredly have been quite the awkward endeavor. It took one attempt to realize that she was far too short to hoist herself atop him on her own, so the woman cleared her throat, disregarding the flush of shame that darkened her cheeks. 

Fortunately, her companion understood her dilemma and lowered himself to his belly, much like a hound would. At least, with his having done so, she could clamber over him and situate herself on his back. It was admittedly a strange feeling, and an even odder thought to dwell upon. She tried to push it from her mind, curling her fingers into the hair on his back, forcing her perception of him to shift. Not a man. 

“Hold on.” She heard him growl, and merely a moment following his warning, he broke into a run. The woman lurched, nearly toppling off of him, managing to orient herself in time. 

Still, she muttered a curse under her breath and crouched lower, pressing herself into his warmth as much as she could as the breath of a true winter swept across her figure. 

The world became a blur of white around them, and naught but the sound of wind whistled in her ears. White. The final haze of color from her preternatural dream. A grim dread settled in her belly, and Edelgard clenched her jaw. An innate, instinctual sense tugged at her mind, something akin to a warning. 

Without a doubt, the future certainly seemed bleak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've no doubt this one was probably duller and shorter than you'd expect, but I hope to make up for the lack of excitement in the coming chapters! 
> 
> I actually don't think there are that many left, which is good. I never wanted this to be a super long work, because if it were, then it'd literally never get finished. But yeah, now I know how to progress the story, I can sort of guess how much work I have left to do. 
> 
> In case anyone is curious, I spent that hiatus writing a ton for my original works, and now I have like 6 different works that are 80+ pages. Oops. Now then, til next time, however fucking long that'll be

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I never intended to write a multi-chapter coherent fic, but here we go; I was far too tempted by this idea to not do it. Hopefully I don't drag it out too long. Also, I think it should be evident that this is not meant to be a light-hearted read. I really want to stretch the limits here. 
> 
> Right; don't expect this one to update super frequently because I actually want to take my time and write something good.


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